A Most Suitable Marriage
by PrettyPoppy
Summary: After the Great War has ended, Sansa Stark takes her rightful place as the Lady of Winterfell. Sansa knows she must marry again someday for the good of the North, but after all she has suffered, she is certain she will never marry for love. Instead, she decides on a more practical match, offering her hand in marriage to the only man who has never betrayed her, Tyrion Lannister.
1. Chapter 1

Title: A Most Suitable Marriage

Author: PrettyPoppy

Summary: After the Night King has been defeated and Jon and Daenerys have claimed the Iron Throne, Sansa Stark takes her rightful place as the Lady of Winterfell. Sansa knows that she must marry again someday for the good of the North, but after all that she has suffered, she is certain that she will never marry for love. Instead, she decides on a much more practical match, offering her hand in marriage to the only man outside of her own family who has never betrayed her, Tyrion Lannister.

Author's Notes: This is an angsty Sanrion romance. It is based solely on the TV show and takes place after a hypothetical Season 8.

* * *

Chapter One

The war was over. The Night King had been defeated. Jon would sit on the Iron Throne with Daenerys as his queen. All was right with the world. Except it wasn't.

Tyrion Lannister sat at the desk in his borrowed room at Winterfell with a sense of unease that he just couldn't name. Daenerys had asked him to return to King's Landing as Hand of the Queen, while Ser Davos would be Hand of the King. But the prospect left Tyrion cold. Now that the war had been won and his queen had found her king, he felt there was little place for him by her side anymore. He might be the Queen's Hand by title, but he knew Daenerys would always turn to Jon for counsel first, and his voice and his opinions would become more and more insignificant as time went on. As it should be, of course. For the first time in ages, Westeros had a king and queen who loved each other and intended to rule as one. They would make a formidable pair, and Tyrion feared there was no place for him between them.

Tyrion idly drummed his fingers on the surface of the desk as he stared out the window at the snow falling softly to the ground. Even though the Night King had been defeated, winter had still not left the land. The maesters of Oldtown had changed their forecast, now predicting a short, mild winter, as if the fate of the White Walkers had been connected to the approaching cold all along. It was a pleasant thought, considering how badly the land had already been ravaged. A short winter would mean a chance to rebuild that much sooner and life could go back to normal – hopefully, better than normal – when spring finally came.

Of course, life would never truly go back to normal for Tyrion. The Great War had claimed both his brother and his sister as casualties, and his world was a very different place now. Jon had given him Casterly Rock and named him Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, a title he had coveted all his life, but it was a bitter victory. As pleased as Tyrion was to have the title and the land that went with it, he would have much preferred that Jamie had lived and been granted those honors instead. Tyrion had loved Jamie unconditionally, and he hated the idea of living in a world without him in it.

Suddenly, there was a rap at the door, and Tyrion was finally roused from his musings. He hopped off the chair and walked across the room expecting to find Podrick or Bronn on the other side of the door. Although Podrick was no longer his squire, the lad still doted on him whenever he got the chance. Tyrion would be sorry to leave the boy behind when he finally returned to King's Landing, but Pod's allegiance was to Brienne of Tarth now, so at Winterfell he would have to stay.

Tyrion pulled the door open and was surprised to find a maidservant staring back at him. He recognized her as one of Sansa's attendants.

"My lord, Lady Stark would like a word with you."

"With me?" He was surprised by the invitation. He and Sansa had barely spoken since he'd been back at Winterfell. They had exchanged pleasantries and asked after each other's welfare, but beyond that, it had been difficult to know what to say. "Did she say what it was about?"

"No, my lord, just that I should bring you to her. You will need your cloak."

Tyrion turned back into the room and donned the heavy cape he had acquired during his time in the North. He didn't mind the chilly air, nor the snow, but he certainly wasn't accustomed to facing them without the proper attire.

When he was adequately dressed, he returned to the maidservant. "Please, lead the way," he said as he stepped out into the corridor, pulling the heavy door closed behind him.

He couldn't imagine what the Lady of Winterfell wanted with him. He was set to leave in a fortnight, when Jon and Daenerys and their entire entourage headed south. Perhaps his former wife just wanted a moment alone with him to reminisce about the brief time they had shared together before the world had nearly been destroyed, but he doubted it. He was certain that whatever it was had much more political implications. After all, he was still Hand of the Queen. Perhaps Lady Stark wanted him to petition the queen on her behalf. Whatever it was, he would bet his best cask of Dornish wine that there would be no mention of their former status as husband and wife.

Tyrion followed the serving girl out into the brisk, evening air. They traveled along the covered bridge that ran between the Great Keep and the armory. The yard below was quiet, the blanket of snow covering the earth, pristine and untouched. Even though the sky was heavy with storm clouds, the moon was full, and it cast a radiant glow on the gleaming snow below. Standing by one of the large open windows, overlooking the eerie quiet, was Sansa. The hood of her cloak lay about her shoulders, and her fiery red hair stood in stark contrast to the white sky beyond. She was positively stunning.

The last time Tyrion had seen her in King's Landing, she had looked particularly beautiful, dressed as she had been for a royal wedding. But now, there was something even more glorious about her. Time and circumstance had matured her. She was no longer an unsure little girl. She was a woman full grown, the Lady of Winterfell, and there was no denying just how well that title suited her.

Sansa turned toward them as they approached. She nodded her thanks to her handmaiden, who quietly retreated, leaving them alone.

"Thank you for coming, my lord. I realize the hour is late, and I'm certain there are better things you could be doing."

"I can't think of a one."

"Will you join me?" she asked as she turned back toward the yard and stared out into the night.

"Of course." Tyrion approached the wooden wall that overlooked the yard. He was surprised to find that directly in front of the window, just beside Sansa, was a small wooden stool. No doubt, it had been brought there for his use, which gave Tyrion a moment's pause. Sansa had gone to some lengths to prepare for this meeting. It had to be something of great importance.

Tyrion ascended the two small steps, bringing him to a comparable height with the woman beside him. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of gratitude. He wanted to believe that Sansa had provided for his comfort because he meant something to her, but he knew she had done it because she was the Lady of Winterfell and it was her duty to see to the comfort of all her guests. Even so, he was grateful that she had been so thoughtful.

Tyrion turned and looked out into the yard. "It's a beautiful night," he said. "I can't say that I will miss northern winters, but there is something enchanting about the quiet and calm of a snowy evening that we are sorely lacking in the south. And that I will miss."

"So then, you will be returning to King's Landing?"

Tyrion laughed. "Where else would I go? I haven't got any family left, now that Cersei and Jaime are gone. And who else would want me?"

"What about Casterly Rock?" she asked, finally turning her eyes toward him. "Hasn't Jon given you the castle and made you Lord Paramount of the Westerlands?"

Tyrion looked at her, once again struck by her sudden maturity. He knew she had suffered a great deal, and he regretted that he had been unable to stop any of it. It had forged her, the way fire forges Valyrian steel, and it had made her a very different woman than the one he had once known. He wondered if there was still any softness beneath her reserved exterior. He hoped that there was.

"He has. Yes," Tyrion replied. "But what awaits me there? An empty relic? A monument to my family's immorality? No, thank you. Until Jon and Daenerys have settled in, and I am certain that there has been a smooth transition of power, I shall remain in King's Landing."

"And how would you feel about remaining in the North?"

"As lovely as your winters are, Lady Stark, I can't imagine having a single reason to stay."

"Not even a fortuitous marriage?"

Tyrion was struck dumb for a moment, but only for a moment. He laughed again, nearly choking on the sound. "Fortuitous for whom? Certainly not the poor creature who is burdened with me for a husband. You've lived that fate yourself. Surely you would not inflict such torture on another unfortunate girl."

Something softened in Sansa's features, and he could have sworn that a smile tugged at her lips, but perhaps that was just a trick of the moonlight. "I don't think I would consider being married to the Lord of Casterly Rock torture. There are many young ladies who would be proud to hold that title."

"Proud of the title, yes, but not the husband that goes along with it."

"I don't know," she said, looking away again, "any woman would be proud to have a husband who was clever and kind. Those are rare qualities, even in the North."

"Even in a dwarf."

"You concern yourself too much with outward appearances."

"The world concerns itself too much with outward appearances. And unfortunately, it's the only world we've got, so we must be concerned with them as well." Tyrion leaned his arms on the window, relaxing just a bit. Now that he knew what Sansa wanted, he felt slightly more in control of the situation. She was Lady of Winterfell, he was Lord of Casterly Rock. For the first time, they were on even footing, both literally and figuratively, and he risked no danger in refusing her impending request. "I suppose," he continued, "that you wish to offer me the hand of one of the daughters of the North. If you are wise – and I know you are – you would make certain that it was a Stark. After all, that's the best way to unite the North and the Westerlands. It would create an impenetrable alliance that would ensure peace for decades to come."

"It would be a powerful match."

"I agree. But if that is what you intend to offer, I must humbly decline."

Sansa turned to look at him then, and Tyrion pulled away from the wall, standing to his full height, what little of it there was.

"Do you understand what it is I'm offering you?"

"I think I understand better than most. I've played the game of thrones far longer than most," he said with a wry smile. "But I don't want to play the game much longer. I have a duty to my king and queen to fulfill. Once that is done, I shall retire from public life and happily drink myself to death."

"This is no time for jokes, Tyrion."

It was the first time she had said his name since he'd come to Winterfell, and it stilled the beating of his heart for a single moment. When he recovered, he said, "It's no joke. I would rather leave alliances and arranged marriages to other men, better men, than myself. Besides, I don't think your sister would ever agree to marry me. She seems more suited to knighthood than wifehood."

"She is. Which is why I would never even think of trying to arrange a marriage for her. If I did, she'd disappear from Winterfell a second time, and I'm certain I'd never see her again."

"Then who does that leave?" Tyrion asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

"I offer you myself, my lord."

"Sansa." The word was little more than a whisper on his lips. He shook his head. "You've been through two disastrous marriages. You've done your duty. The next time you marry, you should marry for love. There's no one to stop you. No king to demand that you do otherwise. You deserve to be happy. And I know I could never make you happy."

"Love is not a luxury I can afford."

"Of course, it is. You're young – so very young – you have plenty of time before you must make this choice. From all accounts, your mother and father were very much in love. Don't you want that for yourself?"

Her eyes took on a somber cast at the mention of her parents, but it didn't shake her resolution in the least. "My mother married the most loyal, devoted, and trustworthy man she ever knew. That is what I want for myself, Tyrion. And that is why I have chosen you."

The cold night air caught in Tyrion's lungs as he stared unblinkingly at the beautiful woman before him. She had been through so much, she deserved so much better, she just didn't seem to know it. He knew that, compared to Ramsay Bolton, he looked like a prince, but it was an unfair comparison. Yes, he was loyal, devoted, and trustworthy, but there was so much more a woman needed from a husband. Much more. If only Sansa could understand that.

"My lady—"

"Sansa," she corrected, dropping all pretense of formality.

"Sansa," he conceded reluctantly. "While I am touched that you think so highly of me, you must know that a marriage between us could never be a happy one. At least not for you. You are young and beautiful. You are no longer a traitor's daughter, yet I am still every bit the demon monkey. Surely, you know that you can do much better."

"Ramsay Bolton was a handsome man. Would you like to know what that handsome man did to me?'

"At the moment, I would rather not," Tyrion replied, shifting uncomfortably on his stool.

"I have learned not to trust handsome men, nor clever men—"

"Does this mean you take back your earlier compliment?" He laughed, trying to alleviate some of the tension.

"You are clever, yes, but that isn't your most desirable quality. It isn't what makes you who you are."

"And I always thought it was my only desirable quality."

"You are a good man, Tyrion Lannister. Besides Jon, you are the only good man I know. I want a husband I can trust, and if the past few years have taught me anything, it's that there aren't many trustworthy people in this world. Knowing that I can trust you, knowing that you are now and always will be good to your word, is what I need to be happy. It is all I need."

In that moment, Tyrion realized for the first time just how fragile Sansa Stark really was. Although she put up a good front, beneath her cool, refined exterior was a frightened girl who had been betrayed one too many times. She meant what she had said. She had been so battered by the Ramsay Boltons and Littlefingers of the world that she had learned never to trust anyone ever again. The only people she could trust were those who had already proven themselves to her. He was honored that she counted him among them. He had meant what he'd said on their wedding day; he would never hurt her.

"Sansa, I . . ."

She turned away from him then, pulling her heavy black cloak tighter around her shoulders. "I know that I am not the girl you left in King's Landing," she said softly. "I am no longer innocent. I have been used in ways that I do not even possess the words to describe. If that is why you are reluctant—"

"No, Sansa. Never."

She cast him an uncertain glance. Her blue eyes were glassy as if she was fighting back unshed tears.

Tyrion wanted to reach out to her, but she was beyond arms' length, and he wasn't sure how she'd respond to the contact. Instead, he tried to comfort her with words. "What that monster did to you wasn't your fault."

"I'm the one who agreed to marry him," she said with a bitter smile before looking away again.

"That still doesn't make it your fault. A husband should comfort and care for his wife, not abuse her. If he doesn't, that shame is his and his alone. You are blameless, Sansa. His sins are not your sins. Don't ever forget that."

Sansa inhaled a steadying breath and squared her shoulders. When she turned to look at Tyrion again, the pain was gone from her eyes. "You have done far too good a job of proving your point, Tyrion Lannister."

"Meaning?"

"How many other men would have stood here and told me that it was my fault? That by marrying me they were doing me a favor? Taking a damaged bride, when they deserve better? But not you. You are kind and caring and gentle. You are the husband I need. I ask that you agree to my request. If not, I may have no choice but to ask Jon to intervene on my behalf."

Tyrion was dumbfounded. "You would have Jon force me to marry you by royal decree?"

"I'd rather not. But I could if need be."

"This means that much to you?"

"It does."

Tyrion tried to think of a reason to say no. The truth was, Sansa Stark was everything he had ever wanted in a wife. She was beautiful, clever, kind, and compassionate. There was nothing about her that he found wanting. And yet, it wasn't his own happiness that concerned him, but hers. How would she feel spending the rest of her life with him for a husband? How would she feel about sharing his bed? A cold shiver coursed down Tyrion's spine at the thought, and he pulled his cloak tighter around him.

The truth was, beyond fear for Sansa's happiness, he couldn't think of a single reason to say no. She was determined to have him as her husband. Again. And if it was truly what she wanted, he simply couldn't bring himself to deny her. Not after everything she had been through.

"Well?" Sansa prompted, waiting for him to speak again.

"I will accept your offer."

Her face lit up with a triumphant smile. It was the first time Tyrion had seen her smile in more time than he could remember. But he held up a hand to temper it before she claimed victory too quickly.

"On one condition."

"And that is?" she asked, sobering slightly.

"You are Lady of Winterfell, and I am Lord of Casterly Rock. Both of those positions are highly political. As much as we believe ourselves free to make such a match on our own, the truth is, the power lies with the king and queen. If Jon will permit you to wed and Daenerys will excuse me from my post, I will be your husband. But only if they both sanction the match."

"You need not give up being the Queen's Hand. My father was Hand of the King while still married to my mother."

Tyrion wanted to point out how well that had worked out for him, but he bit his tongue. Now was not the time for sarcasm. "I will not be an absentee husband. Unless, of course, that is what you wish."

"No." She shook her head. "I want someone to rule the North by my side. But I will not stand in the way of your duty."

"Then the decision will lie with the king and the queen. If they grant our requests, we will be wed. You have my word."

Sansa nodded, and her whole demeanor changed. She seemed calmer, more resigned, as if she had won the first battle in the war and she was ready to fall back for just a short while to prepare for the second wave. "I will speak with Jon first thing in the morning."

"And I shall speak with our queen as well. Now," Tyrion said, gazing up at the moon one last time, "it is getting late. If that is all for this evening, I will bid you good night."

"Good night, Tyrion."

"Good night, Sansa." He bowed his head in a gentlemanly fashion, then descended the stairs to stand on the ground once again. He looked up at the woman who had just asked him to be her husband. He suddenly felt very small and inadequate. He silently hoped that either Jon or Daenerys would deny their request. Otherwise, he would have to make good on his promise, and he still wasn't convinced that this marriage was a good idea. It had failed once. It could fail again. Only this time, there would be no escape. He just hoped that Sansa knew what she was getting herself into.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Sansa watched Tyrion disappear down the covered bridge. She felt a surprising sense of relief. She had been contemplating the prudence of a proposed alliance ever since the war had been won and Jon and Daenerys had been wed. For the first time since she had left Winterfell for King's Landing all those years ago, she finally felt safe. The future no longer looked bleak or unbearable. She had hope, and that was more than she had ever anticipated having again.

Now that the Great War was over, Winterfell was not the same place it had once been. Bran had chosen to go north again, to live out the rest of his days as the Three-Eyed Raven. At first, both Sansa and Arya had been reluctant to allow him to go, but the longer he had stayed at Winterfell, the more it had become apparent that he was no longer their beloved brother, but something else entirely. His place was beyond the Wall. Despite their personal misgivings, there was no denying that. And so, he had left Winterfell, never to return.

Soon, Jon would leave as well, and Sansa and Arya would be all that was left of the Starks of Winterfell. Life was changing, and Sansa had found her own way to change with it.

"Are you sure that was wise?"

Sansa swung around to see Arya stepping out from the shadows. Her heart skipped a beat at being caught unawares. "Must you always do that?"

"Must you always change the subject?"

Sansa turned back toward the wall, trying to ignore her sister's penetrating stare. She had made her decision on her own. She was in no mood to defend it to anyone. "I have made a wise tactical alliance. I am the Lady of Winterfell. It is my duty to marry where it best suits the North."

A small laugh escaped Arya's throat as she moved up beside her sister, looking out over the yard below. "You should realize by now that you can't fool me. I know what you're thinking. I know why you're doing this. My only question is, are you really sure that you can live with it?"

Sansa nodded. "I'm sure."

"I don't mean now. I don't even mean on your wedding night."

Sansa's whole body unconsciously stiffened at the thought. She knew that things would be different this time, that Tyrion would not stand idly by and wait for her to be ready for him. This time, they would have to consummate their marriage regardless of her personal feelings. It was a sacrifice Sansa had already prepared herself to make, and yet, the idea still terrified her.

Arya continued, "What I mean is, five years from now, ten years from now, when the memories of the past have faded and life has become comfortable again. Will you be happy married to a halfman when spring returns and the northern knights come riding into Winterfell in their shining armor? Will you be sorry then that you hadn't waited? That you'd traded your life to a man whose touch you abhor?"

"I would abhor the touch of any man. I have no desire for fancy knights or promises of love. I have been through too much to ever care for such things again." The words were hollow in her throat. They made her feel cold just to say them, but they were true.

"Your new husband will expect you to share his bed. He waited once. I doubt he will wait again."

"I will not ask him to wait. It is a luxury the Seven Kingdoms cannot afford."

"But what about you? What about what you want?"

What Sansa really wanted was for everything to be the way it had been before, before she had left for King's Landing, before her entire world had fallen apart. She wanted her mother and father to be alive. She wanted Robb and Rickon to be alive. She wanted to be the happy, carefree girl who had grown up believing in fairy tales and chivalry and true love. But none of that was ever going to be. She knew she would never be happy again, and so, she had chosen to take her solace in duty and honor and to ignore the longings of her own broken heart.

"This is what I want," Sansa replied. "I will do my duty. I will give myself to my husband on our wedding night and secure the alliance between us, once and for all. If I had only done so all those years ago—" Sansa couldn't finish the thought. How many times had she lain awake at night after Ramsay Bolton had left her, thinking that exact same thing? If only she had lain with Tyrion, if only she had accepted his kindness and gone to his bed, she never would have been given to Ramsay Bolton in the first place.

"Sansa." Arya approached her, placing one gloved hand comfortingly on her sister's arm.

A bitter smile pulled at Sansa's lips as unshed tears stung her eyes. "It's fine. I'm fine. This is what I want."

"It's not too late to change your mind. Just say the word and I'll speak to Jon. He'll deny the request outright and that will be the end of it."

For a fleeting moment, Sansa was tempted to accept Arya's offer. It was not yet too late to turn back. She could still change her mind. But Sansa was no coward. She had come this far, and she would not run now. She had made a responsible decision, and she would stand by it. "No," Sansa said stalwartly, her shoulders pulling back in a show of determination. "This is what I want. I want safety, I want security, I want a man I can trust."

"This is all Littlefinger's fault, isn't it?"

Sansa finally looked down at her little sister. Although Arya was still a brave warrior, with every day that passed, she looked more and more like her old self. It was a comfort to Sansa, even though she knew her sister could not stay by her side forever. "He taught me a valuable lesson. One I will not forget."

"He's dead, Sansa. Don't let him rule you in death the way he ruled you in life."

Sansa looked away, unable to bear her sister's scrutiny. "It isn't just Littlefinger. It's all of them. Every last man I've ever met who wasn't a Stark. I'm happy with my choice. It is for the best."

Arya surprised her then by wrapping her arms around Sansa's waist and hugging her tightly. It was an unexpected gesture of solidarity, one they wouldn't have shared back in their childhood days. Things had changed between them since they'd been reunited. Along with Bran and Jon, they were all that was left of their family, and they needed each other now more than ever. Their past differences were quickly becoming a distant memory as they tried to forge ahead toward a new future.

Sansa wrapped her arms around Arya and held on for dear life. She knew she was doing the right thing. It had been a difficult decision, but one she'd had no choice but to make.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Tyrion had expected to speak with Daenerys privately the next morning, but she and Jon had stayed in their chamber far later than was decent. He didn't have to use very much imagination to figure out what they'd been doing all morning. He was certain that all of Winterfell knew. Ordinarily, it wouldn't have bothered him, but the subject of his possible marriage to Sansa had been gnawing at him all night, and it was still too early in the day to get drunk. He paced the Great Hall, waiting for the queen to finally make an appearance.

After a fitful night's sleep, Tyrion was still unconvinced that an alliance with Sansa Stark was a good idea. Of course, politically, tactically, it made perfect sense. But personally, he wasn't sure that it would serve either of them well. Tyrion had no doubt that Sansa could make him happy, but he very much doubted his ability to do the same for her. He knew that if they were wed, given time, he would eventually fall in love with her, and love was a dangerous thing, especially when the object of one's affection was incapable of returning the sentiment. Tyrion knew that Sansa was a kind, compassionate woman, but he didn't know whether that kindness and compassion could ever turn her feelings for him to love. Back in King's Landing, there had been moments when he'd thought it possible. But now, there was nothing he doubted more.

Sansa had been brutalized over and over again, by nearly all the men in her life: Joffrey, Bolton, Littlefinger. Although Tyrion was certain that her capacity to love her family had not diminished, he feared that her capacity to ever love another man had been irrevocably damaged. It would take a prince among men to ever win Sansa Stark's heart after everything she had endured, and he knew he was never going to be that prince. Tyrion knew that a life with Sansa would mean a life of unrequited love for him. He would have a wife who respected him, maybe even admired him, but he would never have her heart, and he still wasn't sure that he could live with that.

The problem was, as bad an idea as marrying Sansa Stark was, Tyrion was still tempted to do it. She was a beautiful woman. Smart, clever, determined. He admired her greatly and knew that if he traveled all the known world, he would never find himself a better wife. Bronn had been right all those years ago; he did want her. He just hated to admit it. Every time she walked into a room his pulse quickened. He'd love nothing more than to take her to bed, but only if she wanted him to.

Tyrion's musings were interrupted when Daenerys and Jon finally entered the Great Hall. The two had been inseparable nearly from the day they had first met. Every day that passed, they grew closer. And every day, Tyrion's opinions mattered to her less and less and Jon's mattered more and more. Thankfully, Tyrion liked Jon and trusted Jon. He and Daenerys would rule Westeros together admirably. In that moment, Tyrion was certain that they wouldn't need his help at all.

Daenerys' smile brightened when she saw Tyrion. "Good morning."

"Your Grace," he said with a quick nod of his head, followed by another one for Jon. He focused his attention back on his queen. "I was hoping that I could have a private word with you before you break your fast."

Before Daenerys could answer, Sansa entered the room and said, " _We_ were hoping to have a private word with you."

Daenerys raised one dark brow at Tyrion in question.

He cleared his throat nervously. "Yes, _we_ were hoping to have a private word with you. With both of you."

Sansa moved closer, standing beside Tyrion and turning to face her cousin and his queen.

"Sansa," Jon said with some uncertainty, "what is this about?"

As the man, tradition dictated that Tyrion should be the one to answer. He should be the one to ask Sansa's guardian for her hand. But Sansa was no shy maiden, and she answered on her own. "Tyrion and I wish to be married."

Jon looked dumbstruck, as if, if asked at that moment, he wouldn't have even remembered his own name. But Daenerys, Daenerys gave Tyrion a small, secret smile.

The muscles in his stomach tightened as he realized that she found this whole idea intriguing and would probably not deny his request. Seven bloody hells.

"Jon," Sansa prompted when he failed to say anything.

"Is this . . . is this what you want?"

"It is."

Jon turned his eyes to Tyrion. They had known each other for years now, spoken many times, but the way Jon was looking at him now made him feel as if Jon was seeing him for the very first time.

Tyrion pulled down on his doublet nervously, straightening his shoulders in an unconscious gesture to give himself more height. He hated being scrutinized in such a fashion. It always made him feel inferior.

Without a word to him, Jon turned back to Sansa. "We need to talk. Privately."

A warm flush of embarrassment spread up Tyrion's chest. There was nothing quite like being judged and found lacking by your own king. It rankled him that as far as Jon was concerned, he was good enough to stand by Daenerys' side as her Hand, but not good enough to marry Sansa Stark. Tyrion had thought better of Jon than that. Now, he would have to reevaluate his opinion of his new king.

"If you would excuse us." Jon turned toward the doorway and extended his hand, indicating for Sansa to join him. They exited together, Tyrion's eyes locked on Sansa the entire time.

The moment they were gone, Tyrion sighed in relief.

"Are you going to tell me whose idea this was," Daenerys asked, "or do you expect me to guess?"

Tyrion finally turned to look at her. She still seemed mildly amused by his predicament, and he wasn't exactly pleased by that fact. "Do you honestly believe this would be my idea?"

"Well, it certainly makes political sense. The Wardeness of the North married to the Warden of the West. I'm surprised I didn't think of it myself."

It took all of Tyrion's resolve not to roll his eyes at her. Instead, he turned his back on her and approached the long table at the head of the room. The servants had brought an array of food to accommodate the late arrival of the royal couple, and that food had been accompanied by several flagons of wine. Tyrion reached for the nearest one and poured himself a goblet of red liquid. Then he downed it in one swig, deciding that it was no longer too early in the day to start drinking in earnest.

When the goblet was empty, he slammed it down onto the table with a little more force than he'd intended. "This was definitely not my idea."

"If you are so averse to it, then why did you come here intending to ask for our approval?"

"Because it's what Sansa wants." A wry smiled pulled at his lips as he realized why he was really doing this. He cared for the girl. Far too much. And even though he knew theirs would not be the happiest of marriages, he couldn't deny her anything.

Daenerys' tone sobered just a bit. "Why should it matter to you what the girl wants?"

Tyrion shook his head and finally turned around to look at his queen. She was standing a few feet away, dressed in an ice-blue velvet gown, her blindingly white hair falling in waves all around her. She looked so stunning, so serene, so patient. The perfect ice queen. Which, of course, was ironic considering that she had been born of fire. It was further proof for Tyrion that she and Jon were fated by the gods to be together.

"You do know that we were married once before?"

"Yes, I am aware of that fact. But what does it matter? Your marriage was nullified when you fled King's Landing. You don't owe the girl anything."

"You're right. I don't."

"And yet . . .?"

"And yet, had I been a good husband to her in the first place, done my duty, consummated our marriage, Littlefinger could never have sold her off to Ramsay Bolton."

"You're right. He could not have. But not because your marriage would have been valid, but because your wife would have eventually been hunted down and executed as a traitor after your escape. If you had done your duty, she would be dead right now and we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Tyrion had never thought about it that way before. Daenerys had a point. "Yes, well," he said, stalling for something to say, "even so, the girl has asked very little of me, and I am finding it difficult to deny this request."

"Would you like me to deny it for you? As the queen, it is my right."

He shook his head. "No, no. I thought about that, don't mistake me. But I promised her if she received Jon's blessing and you allowed me to be excused from my post, that we would be wed."

Daenerys' vibrant eyes darkened as she realized, for the first time, what it was that he had actually come there to ask her. "You intend to leave my service."

"If you will allow it."

"Why? Can you not serve as my hand and Lady Sansa's husband?"

"I could," he said, finally moving closer so that their conversation could be more intimate, "but I would rather not."

"Do you know what you're asking?"

"I do."

"Do you really believe that you will be satisfied living the life of a warden, far removed from the intrigue and goings-on of the capital?"

"I was hoping that now that you and Jon share the throne, there would not be any more intrigue in King's Landing."

"There will always be intrigue in King's Landing. That cannot be helped."

"Then you and Jon should handle it admirably."

Daenerys eyed Tyrion doubtfully.

"You don't need me anymore," he said. "Your husband is more than capable of advising you. I have outlived my usefulness. Now, I must go be useful to someone else."

"There's more to this than a sense of obligation, isn't there?"

Tyrion wanted to deny it, but he knew he couldn't. So instead, he ignored the question. "Will you grant my request to resign my position as your Hand?"

"Only if that's what you really want."

"It is," he said, mimicking Sansa's words from earlier. He still didn't know how he was going to be a good husband to her or how he was going to make her happy. But he suddenly wanted to try.

"Very well," Daenerys replied. "But, you will remain Hand of the Queen until you are wed. There is no reason to step down now. I will need to plan for my future without you, and it is not a future I am looking forward to."

"You'll be fine. You'll find your throne room will be a lot quieter without me in it," he said with a smile.

Daenerys smiled back, and Tyrion knew they had survived the tensest part of their conversation. "I do enjoy the quiet. I think I shall become quite spoiled without you around. I suppose it will take your wife some getting used to."

"Oh, she's used to it." Tyrion laughed. "There were times when we were first married where all I did was talk. The gods know, besides drinking, I did little else."

"You realize that as you're marrying Jon's cousin and the Lady of Winterfell, that your conduct will be held to a high set of standards, which means—"

"No whoring, yes, yes, I know. That's not my intention."

"And yet, you will have a wife who may not be receptive to your advances, not after everything she's been through. Are you certain you can live that kind of life?"

Tyrion wished he could reach for another glass of wine, but he had moved too far from the table. Instead, he said, "I know what I am walking into. And yes, I accept my fate."

Daenerys nodded in understanding. "Then you have my blessing. I wish you great happiness, Tyrion Lannister. No other man deserves it more."

Tyrion snorted. "I don't know about that." And then, despite his better instincts, he turned around and returned to the table for another taste of wine. There was nothing standing between him and Sansa now but Jon. And whatever Jon decided would seal their fate.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Sansa walked beside Jon through the maze of corridors that led to her chamber. He had asked to speak privately with her, but she wasn't entirely sure what there was to discuss. Tyrion Lannister was the trusted Hand of the Queen. He had proven himself an admirable ally time and time again, and he would make any woman a fine husband. Sansa wondered if Jon thought she had been pressured into the match, even though nothing could have been further from the truth. She was prepared for whatever misgivings Jon might have. She had thought everything through long before she had even broached the subject with Tyrion.

After a long, silent walk, Sansa and Jon finally reached her chamber. They sequestered themselves inside, standing just beyond the closed door, their conversation too urgent for them to even cross the room to sit at the table beside the window. The instant they were alone together, Jon finally spoke. "You know you don't have to do this, don't you?" he said. "Come to King's Landing. There are many admirable men who served in the Great War who would be more than happy to marry you. You can have your pick of them."

"I've made my choice."

Jon's brow furrowed in confusion. "Sansa, I know that Tyrion Lannister is quite adept at using words to get what he wants, but what could he have possibly said to you to get you to agree to this?"

"He didn't say anything. I was the one who proposed the match. Not him."

Jon stared at her for a moment in disbelief. "You can't mean that."

"I do. I asked him to be my husband because it is what I want."

"But why? Don't mistake me, Sansa, Tyrion Lannister is a great man. He is honorable and trustworthy, and he has served my wife and our family well, but—"

"But what?" Sansa knew what was coming. She was just waiting for Jon to say it.

"But . . . he's not for you."

"Why? Because he's a Lannister or because he's a dwarf?"

"No, no, not for either of those reasons," Jon protested. "Who am I to judge anyone based on his family name? And being a dwarf has never seemed to bother Lord Tyrion, so why should it bother me? But that's not what this is about, Sansa. You can have any man in the Seven Kingdoms. You don't need to settle."

Sansa bristled. She certainly hadn't expected this kind of reaction from Jon. She had expected better of him, especially after everything Tyrion had done for their queen. "Who says I am settling?"

"Sansa," Jon said softly, "it's not that Tyrion isn't a good man. He is. And he will make a fine husband to a noble lady someday. But he's not for you. You've always wanted more. You've always wanted a handsome knight by your side. You've always dreamed of a love like Father . . . like your father," he corrected himself, "had with your mother. Why are you willing to settle for less than that now?"

"Because I've followed my heart before. Right into the hands of Joffrey Baratheon. I even married Ramsay Bolton, hoping that our life together would be tolerable. After all, he was a newly titled lord and quite attractive on the outside. Do you know where all of that got me? It's a miracle that I am not dead. I have no place in my heart, nor my dreams, for romantic love anymore. I have much more practical desires, like ensuring peace in the North and filling Winterfell with a new generation of Stark children. That is all I care about."

Jon looked away for a moment. She could see the frustration in his eyes. He was trying desperately to reason with her. She knew he was concerned for her happiness, but her decision had already been made.

When Jon finally looked at her again, he said, "You do realize that if you marry Tyrion Lannister, some of those children may only be half formed."

"I am well aware of that fact."

"Are you also aware of the fact that Lord Tyrion's mother died giving birth to him?"

"She is not the only woman in Westeros to ever die in childbirth. It is a common occurrence and has nothing to do with him being born a dwarf."

"You don't know that."

"And neither do you."

They stood there in silence for a moment. Sansa was seething. Not one person was supportive of her decision to marry Tyrion. Not even Jon. She had thought that he would be pleased. After all, he seemed to respect Tyrion a great deal, but she supposed that respect didn't go as far as allowing Tyrion to marry his cousin. Sansa was disappointed. She had hoped for better.

"You know," Jon began quietly, "that I am only concerned for your welfare."

"I know."

"With your father and brothers gone, and Bran as he is, it has fallen to me to watch out for you. Not just as your king, but as your family. I just want what's best for you. I want you to have what Daenerys and I have. And I think, if you just wait a little while longer, you will find it. You just need to give it some time."

"Until when?" Sansa asked. "Until everyone has returned to King's Landing and I have been left here all alone? Until the spring comes, perhaps? What is it that you would have me wait for?"

"For your heart to be healed. For you to be able to love again."

"That day will never come."

"You don't know that."

"I do," she replied, her chin inching higher in a show of determination. "I know it as certainly as I know that the snows of the North run in my blood. I know I will never love again. And, as that is the case, at the very least, I would like a husband who will treat me with kindness and respect. One who will care for me and who is trustworthy and honorable. That is all I want."

"Then if that is what you truly want, you could not find a more suitable husband than Tyrion Lannister."

"I'm glad that we finally agree on something."

Jon shook his head. "Oh, Sansa."

"Don't pity me, Jon. I don't want your pity or anyone else's."

"It's not pity. I just want to make sure that you will be happy. That's all."

"None of us can guarantee our own happiness, much less the happiness of others. But I am doing my best to make sure that my future will be bearable, and that is the best I can hope for right now. I hope I have your blessing."

"If you're sure this is what you want—"

"I am."

"Then you have my blessing, Sansa. You may marry Tyrion Lannister."

Sansa knew she should feel relieved, but she didn't. Although Jon had given her his blessing, she was still uncertain of how Daenerys would respond. She would not claim victory until she knew that the queen would agree. "And what of Daenerys?" Sansa asked. "Do you think she will allow Tyrion to resign his post as Hand? Do you think she will give us her blessing?"

"If she's certain that this is what you both want, then I do not believe she will deny either one of you. Regardless of what some may think, she is far too kindhearted for that."

"Will you speak with her on our behalf?"

Jon was quiet for a moment, and Sansa thought he might deny her, but he didn't. "If that's what it takes to make you happy, I will make sure she sees the prudence of the match, and you and Tyrion shall be wed. You have my word."

Sansa smiled, despite herself. A great wave of relief had washed over her with Jon's words. There would be no more arguing, no more defending herself. She would be granted her request, and she would have what she wanted. Tyrion Lannister would become her husband – again – and her future would be safe and secure.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The wedding was a relatively simple affair, a somber ceremony in the godswood and then a feast for all of Winterfell in the Great Hall. Even though Sansa was the Lady of Winterfell, it was not her first marriage, and therefore didn't require the same grandiosity as their first wedding all those years ago in King's Landing. It didn't help matters that the North was now in the dead of winter either. Food stores were low as a result of the war, and there was no room for extravagance, even for the wedding of the Wardeness of the North.

Tyrion sat at the head table, Daenerys to his right and an empty chair to his left. Sansa was across the room, talking gaily with Arya. He wondered if she felt as at ease as she looked or if she was just putting on a show for the lords who were sworn to House Stark. After all, it would not do for the Lady of Winterfell to show doubt or apprehension about her choice of husband. She had to appear confident in everything she did, in every choice she made. No, Tyrion doubted that she was as happy as she looked, but he was determined to enjoy her smile just the same.

Despite having just married the least attractive man in the room, Sansa looked positively radiant. She wore a silver-grey gown trimmed in white fur and accented with the Stark sigil on the cuffs and collar. Her vibrant hair was arranged in countless braids atop her head, standing in stark contrast to the colorless gown. She looked regal and dignified, every inch the grand lady. And yet, Tyrion knew there was a fire burning beneath her reserved exterior that matched the fieriness of her dark tresses. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"You look at her as if she were a goblet of wine," Daenerys said slyly, her attention still seemingly focused on the revelry in the Great Hall.

Tyrion pulled his eyes away from his new bride and stared down into his goblet. After a moment's contemplation, he downed the blood red liquid and said, "But wine will always be my first love."

"And she will be your last."

Tyrion had never heard more sobering words. He reached for the nearest flagon to refill his cup, but Daenerys nonchalantly pushed it beyond his grasp, her eyes never leaving the festivities.

"Your new wife will need you to be sober tonight. It's the least you can do for her."

"I thought marrying her was the least I could do for her."

"She scares you that much, does she?" Daenerys asked, the hint of a smile on her lips.

Tyrion wanted to deny it, but his queen knew him far too well for him to even try. "I fear I cannot give her what she wants."

"But you can give her what she needs."

Without conscious thought, Tyrion's gaze drifted back to Sansa. "That's what she believes."

"She's right, you know?" Daenerys said, finally looking at him. There was a softness in her eyes that bespoke genuine affection, for both him and his wife. "You've both made an excellent choice. You will make her happier than you can imagine."

"Is that some kind of prophecy? The demon imp will marry the lord's daughter and usher in a century of peace throughout the North?"

Daenerys ignored his mockery. She turned away again, her gaze resting on Sansa. "It's called feminine intuition."

Tyrion laughed, holding up his goblet, trying to coax the last drop of liquid from the cup without success. "It's called a cruel joke. That girl's whole life has been a cruel joke, and it hasn't gotten any better tonight."

"The night is still young. I think it's time you took your wife to bed."

Every muscle in Tyrion's body tensed. This is what he had been dreading. Not because he didn't want Sansa, but because he knew she didn't want him, and he had no idea what was going to happen once they were alone together.

"I think I will let her enjoy her wedding banquet a little while longer. She seems quite happy."

"You're better at reading people than that. We both know she would give anything to escape the scrutiny of the northern lords right now. Put her out of her misery, Tyrion."

"Out of one misery and into another? I hardly call that coming to her rescue."

Daenerys gave him a cool look. "She is Lady of Winterfell. She doesn't need rescuing, but she does need sanctuary. Now, either you can quietly steal her away, or I can call for a bedding ceremony. Which would you prefer?" She arched one dark brow in challenge.

Tyrion knew when he was outmaneuvered. Although Sansa was no longer a maiden, as queen, Daenerys was still within her rights to call for a bedding ceremony. "All right," he said. "But I make no promises about what happens when we are alone together."

"It's not as if I'm asking for a full report in the morning. After all, your level of experience is legendary. I'm certain if you do your duty, I shall hear about it one way or the other."

Tyrion was tempted to point out that it had been a long time since he'd had any experience at all. He hadn't been with a woman in years, not since . . . not since what had happened with Shae. What he had done to Shae.

Tyrion's face twisted at the memory, and he did his best to tamp it down, to bury it deep inside where it could fester with all his other regrets. He had a new life to begin, and he would start it now.

Without another word, Tyrion slid from the chair and headed toward the other side of the room. He could feel Daenerys' eyes upon him as he approached his wife. Sansa was still talking to Arya, and he had to clear his throat loudly to get her attention.

"My lord husband," she said as if surprised to see him.

"My lady wife." He nodded politely at Sansa, then turned to his new sister-in-law. "Lady Arya."

"My lord brother," she said with a mischievous smile.

Being called anyone's brother made Tyrion nervous, for obvious reasons. He smiled weakly at Arya, then turned his attention back to his bride. "You seem to be having a most pleasant evening."

"Well, it is our wedding feast."

"Yes, of course." Tyrion cast a sidelong glance at his queen. She was still watching him from across the hall. He knew what she wanted him to do. He looked up at Sansa again. "I suppose you are in no hurry to retire for the evening?"

"Would you like to retire now, my lord?"

No, no he wouldn't. If he had his way, he'd be waist-deep in a barrel of wine until the sun came up, but that was not one of the choices laid out before him now. He could either accompany his wife to bed now or later. There was no third option.

"I think now is as good a time as any. That is, of course, if you are ready."

Sansa's entire demeanor instantly changed. Her body stiffened, and there was an air of cold resignation in her blue eyes. "Of course, my lord. As you wish."

No, not as he wished. Not at all as he wished. But again, he had no say in the matter. They both had a duty to perform, regardless of their own feelings. And it was probably best if the deed was done sooner rather than later, for both their sakes.

Sansa turned to move toward the doorway, but Arya grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.

"May I have a moment alone with my sister, Lord Tyrion?" Arya asked.

"Of course." Tyrion exhaled a relieved sigh at the momentary reprieve. "I shall just wait over there," he said, waving his hand in the general direction of the doorway. Then, without even a second glance at his wife, he meandered toward the other side of the room, his fingers itching to wrap themselves around a glass of something strong.

He waited in the doorway, refusing to cast an eye in Daenerys' direction. Instead, he stayed focused on Sansa. He watched as Arya drew her close and whispered something in her ear. Sansa cast a nervous glance in Tyrion's direction, and he immediately averted his eyes, pretending that he hadn't been staring.

Tyrion looked out over the crowded hall. His mind barely registered what was before him. Every nerve in his body was transfixed on his new bride. Even though he could no longer see her, he could feel her, and it clouded all of his other senses.

All too soon, he felt her approach, and he finally turned to look at her again. Her cheeks were tinged a flattering shade of pink, and he wondered just what her well-meaning sister had whispered in her ear. He knew it was about him, but whether it had been good or bad, he didn't know. He didn't have a very good read on Arya Stark. He supposed her time with the Faceless Men accounted for this failure on his part. She kept her true self guarded, and even he was not clever enough to break through her defenses.

"I am ready, my lord."

Tyrion nodded. He supposed they were both as ready as they were ever going to be.

Without even a glance back at the festivities, Tyrion took Sansa's hand and quietly led her out into the gallery behind the Great Hall. Although there had been no discussion about where they would be spending their wedding night, he knew it would be in her chamber and not his. After all, he was no longer a guest at Winterfell but lord of the castle. Sansa's chambers were now his chambers, no matter how awkward that thought was.

Sansa's long fingers were cold in his hand, and he was surprised, at the very least, that she wasn't trembling. Everything about her was cool and calm, and he didn't know how she'd found the strength. He was certain that every last inch of him was quivering, and he wondered if she could feel it.

They walked in silence until they reached her chamber. Tyrion slipped his hand away and pushed open the heavy door, the sound reverberating ominously down the empty stone corridor. When the door was fully ajar, he stepped back and held out his hand toward the chamber. "My lady."

Without even a nod in his direction, Sansa preceded him into the room. There was a faraway look in her eyes, and he wondered if she had simply closed herself off to everything outside of herself. Was that how she intended to get through the night? By disconnecting herself from her emotions? Perhaps it was the only way she could get through it. Tyrion shuddered at the thought.

He followed her inside and closed the door behind him. The sound was so very final. It made his heart thump wildly in his chest, and he closed his eyes for just a moment, forcing himself to breathe. When he opened them again, he saw Sansa standing on the far side of the room, gazing out into the wintery evening, the snow falling softly beyond the unshuttered window.

Tyrion didn't know what to do or say. So often his own words got him into trouble. He didn't know what Sansa wanted or expected of him. He supposed all he could do was make her certain of his own expectations. And the truth was, he had none. He'd meant what he'd said all those many years ago on their first wedding night. He would not share her bed until she wanted him to. He needed to make sure that she understood, even now, that his intentions had not changed.

Tyrion took a few cautious steps farther into the room, leaving a considerable distance between himself and his new bride. He was determined not to frighten her. He would give her all the time and distance she needed.

"Do you remember," he began, his voice trembling slightly despite his best efforts, "what I told you on our first wedding night, back in King's Landing?"

"That I have an astoundingly long neck?" she said coolly, her gaze still on the darkened sky.

Tyrion couldn't tell whether or not she was joking. "Did I say that?"

"Yes, you did."

"I must have been very drunk."

"Yes, you were." Sansa finally turned to look at him, the hint of a smile on her lips.

Tyrion exhaled a relieved sigh. She was joking. Or at least, she found the situation amusing, and that was more than he could have hoped for. "Well, I'm not drunk now. But I could be. Would you care to join me?" he said, motioning toward the small table by the window that had been laid out for them with food and wine.

Sansa glanced at the table as if contemplating his offer. "Do you think it would make things easier?" she asked, her manner suddenly serious again.

"I think it would make this whole situation a little more bearable. But if you would rather not—"

"No, no, a glass of wine would be fine."

Tyrion wanted to point out that it was going to take a lot more than one glass of wine to get him drunk, but he held his tongue. Instead, he walked across the room and filled both goblets. Then, he turned toward Sansa, holding out a glass to her.

She took it uncertainly, some of her well-practiced façade finally crumbling. She stared down into the liquid as if she could see her entire future reflected back at her in its glassy surface. And what a grim future it was.

Tyrion raised his chalice aloft and offered a toast. "To a tolerable marriage."

Sansa looked at him over the rim of her glass. "You don't have very high expectations for this union, do you?"

"I am nothing if not a realist. I hope for no more than I can imagine possible." He hefted the goblet heavenward again and raised one cynical brow, inviting her to drink with him.

Sansa turned her attention back to her glass and gulped the liquid down her throat, much as she had done the first time they had played out this same little scene all those years ago.

Tyrion downed his cup in one swig. When he was done, he lowered his glass and looked at the girl standing across from him. She was staring down into her empty cup.

The alcohol had turned her skin a darker shade of pink, and rather than making her look coy or shy, it made her look frightened, distressed. Tyrion knew that the last time she had been alone with a man like this, the evening had ended in rape. And brutal rape at that. He knew her fear had a lot more to do with Ramsay Bolton than it did with him, but it cut him to the quick, all the same.

"Sansa," he said her name softly, and she finally looked at him again. "I meant what I said that very first night that we were wed. I will not share your bed until you want me to. And if you never want me to, then I shall live my life as celibate as a septon." They were difficult words for Tyrion to say, but he meant them. He would sacrifice his baser desires if that is what it took to make his wife happy.

"I cannot allow that . . . Tyrion." It took some effort for her to remember to use his given name. "I am Lady of Winterfell and Casterly Rock. I . . . we have an obligation to our people to ensure that this alliance is unbreakable. Had we done so the first time we were wed, things would have been quite different."

Tyrion saw the regret in her eyes, and he wanted to reach out to her, to take her hand and comfort her. But he couldn't. He wouldn't touch her until she asked him to, not even in a gesture of friendship or solidarity. She was off limits to him in every way until she spoke the words giving him permission to breach the invisible barrier between them.

Instead of reaching out to her with his hand, he reached out with his words. "My dear Sansa, you must not regret what has transpired between us in the past. Had we consummated our marriage then, you would likely have been hunted down and executed as the wife of a traitor."

"Perhaps that would have been the kinder fate."

The breath caught in Tyrion's throat, and for a moment, he was rendered speechless, a rare feat. It pained him to know that this girl, his wife, had suffered so much that she considered death a kinder fate than life.

Tyrion struggled to keep a bitter smile from his lips, with little success. "Well," he said, unsure of what else to say, "you did not suffer that fate, and we are here now, facing a new one."

"Yes," she said, her eyes clear and determined, "and we must do what is required of us. The sooner, the better."

Sansa reached out and took the glass from his hand, then placed both goblets on the table. Then, she walked to the bed, stopping beside it, her back turned toward him. For a moment, she didn't move. She just stood there as if summoning up the courage to do what had to be done. Tyrion wanted to tell her to forget the whole thing, but he didn't get the chance.

In an instant, Sansa began working the ties on her gown, and before Tyrion could inhale another breath, the garment slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her feet in a silver-grey puddle of fabric and fur. She turned around then, her shift the only thing between them now, and looked at him with stalwart determination in her eyes. She looked like an unrepentant traitor headed to her own execution, as if, even though she knew she was about to be sacrificed, she refused to let the horror of her fate touch her in any meaningful way.

And again, Tyrion realized that she was shutting herself off from him so that she didn't risk feeling any pain.

Without a single word, she raised her fingers to her shoulders and slipped her shift down her arms. It fell from her slim body in the span of a moment, and suddenly, she was standing naked before him.

Tyrion's gaze slid downward before he could stop himself. She was magnificent. All pale skin and soft curves. He looked upon her for only an instant before his sense of decency took over.

He closed his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath, trying to calm the chaos assaulting his mind and body. He wanted the girl. There was no doubt about that. He could feel his cock stirring already. But there was so much wrong with this situation. So much he didn't want. He didn't know how he was going to proceed. There was a war going on inside him, and he feared which side would win.

"Do I displease you, my lord?" she asked, her voice uncertain.

Tyrion forced his eyes open and looked Sansa directly in the eyes. He refused to look any lower, determined to keep his wits about him. "Of course not, Sansa. You could never displease me."

She shifted on her feet, and from the periphery of his vision, he saw her cover her chest with her arms. "But you don't want me."

"It isn't that."

"They say you've had hundreds of women."

He laughed. "Dozens, maybe. I don't know if I'd say hundreds."

"But you don't want me."

The words hung in the air between them with such weight that Tyrion thought they might crush him. When he was finally capable of speech, he said, "But you don't want me."

"Does that matter?"

He nodded. "It does to me."

Sansa's gaze shifted around the room nervously as if she suddenly regretted having been so bold in the first place.

Tyrion turned around, giving her the privacy she so desperately needed. He ambled about the room as nonchalantly as he could, pretending to examine his new bedchamber, all the while listening to her scrambling back into her clothes. "I understand your desire to consummate this marriage as soon as possible," he said as if he were addressing the small council and not his wife, "but Westeros is no longer at war. There is no need to rush into anything. No one will contest the legitimacy of our union. Nothing must be done tonight."

"If not tonight, when?"

Tyrion stopped by the window, a good distance away from his new bride. He finally turned to look at her again. He was surprised to find that she was only wearing her shift. Her gown now lay folded neatly at the bottom of the bed. He supposed there really was no reason for her to put it back on. It was late. Whether he stayed with her or not, she would soon be retiring for the evening.

"When we have both had a little more time to become accustomed to the idea. When you want me in your bed."

Sansa shook her head. "I will not want you, or any man, in my bed ever again. So, if that is what you're waiting for—"

"It is."

"We cannot allow that. And we both know it."

Yes, Tyrion did know it, but he was tired of arguing for one night. "Then we shall agree to disagree for now. I will see you in the morning, Lady Sansa. I bid you good night." He dipped his head in deference to her and then made a hasty retreat, escaping into the corridor and closing the door behind him before she said another word.

Tyrion sighed heavily, leaning against the door and closing his eyes, trying to ward off the turmoil raging in his mind. His body ached all over, but most notably between his legs. "Fuck," he swore under his breath. He knew Sansa was right, knew she was never going to come to him because she wanted him. He was going to have to take her, whether he wanted to or not. He would have her consent, of course, but he couldn't help feeling as if, in order to do his duty, he was going to have to rape his own wife.

"Fuck," he swore again. He tore his eyes open, pushed himself away from the door, and went in search of a good, stiff drink.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Sansa wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shaking. She felt like crying. Despite her resolve to detach herself from the current situation, Tyrion's rejection had cut her to the very core.

Sansa had been so certain she'd been doing the right thing when she'd asked Tyrion to be her husband. She'd thought they had understood each other, that they both wanted the same thing. But apparently, she'd been wrong. And now, her position and her marriage were both as uncertain as ever. If Tyrion would not come to her until she wanted him, they would never consummate their marriage, and just like before, their union could be torn asunder at any moment.

Sansa bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. She would not cry. She was Lady of Winterfell, Wardeness of the North. There was no room for weakness or tears anymore. She had to be strong.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and Sansa's whole body stiffened. Had Tyrion reconsidered? Although her mind prayed for it to be true, her heart beat a very different rhythm. If he had returned, there would be no turning back this time, no reprieve. She would have to lie with him, as was her duty to her people and her kingdom.

Sansa lowered her arms, pulled back her shoulders, and inched her chin higher. She would not show weakness to anyone. Not even her new husband. "Come in, my lord."

The door creaked open, and Arya crept into the room.

The instant Sansa saw her sister, her resolve crumbled, and the tears flowed freely.

Arya closed the door behind her and crossed the room to where her sister stood, crying beside the bed. She wrapped her arms around Sansa and held her tightly.

For the longest time, they just stood there, Sansa crying into Arya's shoulder, all the pain of the past several years pouring from her. It had been so long since anyone had held her. For a moment, she was even able to pretend that it was her mother, Catelyn Stark, whose arms were around her. It made her feel both whole and hollow.

When Sansa had cried herself out, Arya finally pulled away, holding her sister's hands in her own. She looked Sansa up and down. "You're too pretty to be crying, especially on your wedding day."

"It seems that's all I ever do on my wedding days. Maybe I should stop having them."

Arya squeezed her hands. "Hopefully, this will be the last."

"Not if Tyrion has anything to do with it." Sansa pulled her hands away and moved around Arya so that she could sit on the edge of the bed.

Arya turned to look at her. "What does that mean?"

"Just that Westeros' most lecherous lord refuses to perform his husbandly duties."

A smile crept across Arya's lips, and a small laugh escaped her throat.

Sansa scowled. "This isn't funny."

"You're right," Arya said, trying desperately to suppress a smirk, "it's not."

"It isn't. This is a matter of political importance."

"Sansa, I don't think anyone cares whether or not you and the Imp share a bed. It's not keeping anyone awake at night."

"Well, obviously."

Arya fought back another laugh. Instead of laughing, she joined her sister on the bed, leaving a comfortable distance between them. "Did he give a reason why he refused to do his duty?"

Sansa straightened her spine. "He said he will not share my bed until I want him. And I will never want him."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Then why are you so hurt?"

"What?" Sansa finally turned her head and looked at Arya.

"You're so used to fancy knights and princes fawning all over you. I think you're hurt that one of the least attractive men in the Seven Kingdoms rejected you."

Sansa shook her head. "No, no, it isn't that. I am frustrated by the fact that he agreed to this marriage but obviously had no intention of fulfilling all of his obligations to it. I fear I have made a dreadful mistake."

"Would you like me to kill him for you?"

Sansa held her breath for a moment, uncertain if Arya was joking or not. Finally, she managed, "No. No, thank you."

Arya shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Sansa looked away then, her eyes drifting across the room, her mind lost in thought. "I just . . . I just want this to be settled. I want to know that our alliance is unbreakable. I want some stability for Winterfell for once. That's all."

"For Winterfell and for yourself."

Sansa nodded.

"If you want my opinion, I don't think you've made a mistake at all."

Sansa looked at Arya again. "How can you say that? My husband walked out on me on our wedding night."

"He turned away, not because he doesn't want you, but because he wants you too much."

Sansa's eyes narrowed in confusion. "That doesn't make any sense."

"He cares about you. He respects you. And, like every other man in Winterfell, he wants you."

Sansa's skin tinged pink at the implication.

"But," Arya continued, "he knows you don't want him. You should be pleased that he cares enough not to force you, especially after everything you've been through."

Sansa knew Arya was right. Tyrion was being noble to a fault, and yet, she was frustrated with him because all she cared about were her own insecurities. She was still living in fear, no matter what she told herself. She was afraid of the instability in her life, of not knowing exactly where she stood in the world. So many times, she'd had everything she loved ripped away from her, her name changed, her status changed. She didn't know who she was anymore, and she was trying desperately to find some sure footing. She no longer saw Tyrion as a man, but as a means to an end. She wondered how she would feel if she started thinking of him as a man again.

"You know that I chose Tyrion because I trust him," Sansa said.

"Yes, and yet now you're distrusting his judgment. Isn't that one of the things you married him for?"

Sansa nodded, unable to deny it. "He is a very wise man."

"Then trust that he knows what he's doing." Arya got up from the bed then and turned to leave, but Sansa grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

"Don't go!"

"You can't want me to stay."

"I do. Just like when we were little girls. Remember? And Mother would tuck us in and tell us stories of noble knights and their ladies fair."

"We're not little girls anymore. And even when we were, we never got on very well."

"I know. But just for one night. Please?"

It took Arya a moment, but finally, she nodded, and Sansa was overcome with relief. Arya moved to the other side of the bed and began divesting herself of the simple, unadorned gown she had grudgingly agreed to wear for the wedding.

Sansa left the bed to douse the lights. As soon as she was done, she slipped under the covers to wait for her sister.

When Arya was in nothing more than her shift, she joined Sansa. They both lay on their backs, staring up into the semidarkness. The only light to be seen was the glow of moonlight through the windows and the radiance of the fire still burning in the hearth. Sansa wished Arya would hold her again, but she didn't know how to ask her sister for such comfort. They had never been close, and the fact that Arya had agreed to stay at all had been a blessing. Sansa didn't want to ask for too much, lest she lose what little she did have.

Finally, Arya broke the silence. "You know, when I came in and found you crying, I thought it was for a very different reason."

"What other reason could there have been?"

"I thought Tyrion had bedded you. I thought he had hurt you."

"He would never hurt me." As the words left her throat, Sansa realized just how true they were. She knew them to be true in the deepest recesses of her soul. It was one of the reasons she had asked Tyrion to be her husband. He would never hurt her.

"Not intentionally, no," Arya replied. "And not physically, either. But emotionally. After everything you've been through, I can't imagine that you'd ever desire the touch of a man again."

"I don't."

"So, when you finally do lie with him, it may be a traumatic experience for you. Whether you want him or not."

"Well, I don't want Tyrion, but that doesn't matter."

"It obviously matters a great deal to him."

Sansa didn't want to speak of such things anymore. She wanted to sleep, to close her eyes and forget that she was now the wife of Tyrion Lannister and Lady of Casterly Rock. For just one night, she wanted to be Sansa Stark, sleeping in her own bed, beside her little sister, pretending that her future was a bright and happy one, just as she had as a little girl.

Before she could lose her nerve, Sansa turned and snuggled up against Arya's side. "Do you mind?" she asked, silently praying that Arya wouldn't push her away.

Arya wrapped her arms around her sister in answer.

Sansa sighed heavily. She closed her eyes and shut out the world. Her fears would still be with her when she awoke, but for tonight, she would forget them all and just sleep in the warmth and safety of her sister's arms.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The sun shining through the window of Tyrion's bedchamber was particularly bright the next morning. He could feel it burning through his eyelids as he fought for a few more minutes of sleep.

"You gonna sleep the whole day away?" Bronn asked as he opened another set of shutters to let even more light pour in.

Tyrion groaned and turned his face away from the light. But it was no use. He was awake, headache and all.

After leaving Sansa the night before, he'd gone back to his own bedchamber and briskly consumed every last drop of alcohol in the room. Then, he'd called for more and had spent his entire wedding night drowning his insecurities in a cask of the best wine Winterfell had to offer. It had been a long time since he'd been so very drunk, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

"Got nothin' to say?" Bronn asked. "Well, that's a first."

"And what is it that you'd like me to say? Get the bloody hell out of my chamber?"

Tyrion heard Bronn saunter around the bed, stopping just in front of him. If the opposite side of the room had not been bathed in cruel sunlight, Tyrion would have turned away again.

"Why am I not surprised to find you in here this morning instead of in that girl's bed?"

"I can't imagine."

"You have a really bad habit of not fucking her when you have the chance."

Tyrion finally cracked open one crusty eyelid and looked at Bronn. He looked more like a lord and less like a sellsword than ever before. But then, he was a lord now, so there was no reason he shouldn't look the part. "If I keep going like this, I might never fuck anything again."

"Seven hells."

"What do you want with me this early in the morning?" Tyrion asked, determined to change the subject.

"Your queen is leaving within the hour. As am I. The least you can do is get your drunk arse out of bed and say goodbye."

"Off to claim the spoils of war?"

"And why not?" Bronn replied with a shrug. "Since Queen Dany was kind enough to offer the Twins, why not take them? I get two castles instead of one."

Tyrion pushed himself up in the bed, leaning against the headboard, trying to stop his stomach from heaving. He focused on Bronn, dressed in his fine leather tunic. "Yes, but many, many, many people were murdered there."

"What do I care? Many people were murdered everywhere. Many people were murdered here. People die, one way or another. Doesn't matter how. Death is everywhere, so why run from it?"

"Good point."

"Now," Bronn said, kicking the bedpost with his boot, "get out of bed, or you'll miss my big farewell."

"I'll be there in a minute."

"Better hurry. It's already an hour past sunup."

Bronn ambled toward the door, stopping just long enough to pick up a flagon of wine from the night before. He held it to his lips to take a drink, but it was completely empty. Bronn turned it upside down, and not a single drop fell from its lip. He gave Tyrion a sidelong look.

"It was a very trying night," Tyrion said in his own defense.

"I'll bet."

Bronn put the flagon back on the table and finally left the room.

Tyrion sighed, slumping back against the headboard and fighting the urge to close his eyes again. He knew if he did, he'd go right back to sleep, and he simply didn't have that luxury. He had to be present when his king and queen said their goodbyes. It was expected of him. Besides, he cared for both Daenerys and Jon, and he could not bear the thought of them leaving without a proper farewell.

And yet, his whole body felt like he had just spent the night fighting White Walkers. His head was pounding, his vision was blurry, and his stomach threatened to betray him at any moment. In his younger days, he would have just slept until late in the afternoon, then gotten up and done the whole thing over again. But now, now he had responsibilities. He had a wife and two castles and a list of obligations longer than he was tall – which, admittedly, wasn't saying much. But still, ill or not, he couldn't lay about in bed all day.

Tyrion climbed down from the large bed and stumbled across the floor to the washbasin in the far corner of the room. He splashed his face with cold water, and the shock nearly sobered him. It woke him up just enough for him to be able to get himself dressed without having to call for help. When he was convinced that he looked fairly presentable, he finally left his bedchamber.

The stone corridor echoed with the sounds of servants bustling to prepare for the departure of the royal couple and their attendants. Once they were gone, Winterfell would seem like a quiet, empty place, and Tyrion was dreading it. The moment they passed through the East Gate, his new life would begin in earnest, and he was certainly not prepared for that.

Tyrion followed the commotion out into the yard. Both Jon and Daenerys were already present, waiting outside in the cold, frosty morning for their horses to be readied. Although they still had two dragons at their disposal and could have flown to King's Landing in mere hours, they had chosen to ride south on horseback as an act of good faith. They wanted an opportunity to meet with their subjects as they traveled, to hear their grievances, to connect with them personally. It was the surest way to gain support for their reign.

Tyrion had hoped to have a private word with his queen before her departure, but he knew now that he had missed his opportunity. It would be a long time before he would have a private moment with her again.

Tyrion moved farther into the yard, finally catching a glimpse of his young wife beside Daenerys. She looked radiant in the early morning light, the sun gleaming against her fiery hair. Her posture was dignified, her eyes clear. She looked like a woman who was completely in control of everything around her, and Tyrion wondered how, after everything that had happened the night before, she could be so calm when he was such a wreck.

He feared what he might see when she finally looked his way. Would she be angry with him? Embarrassed? Disgusted? He loathed the idea of seeing any of those emotions marring her beautiful face.

When she finally did see him, however, there was barely any recognition at all behind her beautiful blue eyes. She glanced his way as if simply taking in the scene around her, not so much looking at him as looking through him.

Tyrion shivered. Her coldness cut him to the quick. He knew she felt it was well-deserved, but it wounded him just the same.

Daenerys' gaze followed Sansa's, finally alighting on Tyrion. She arched one fine brow as if she knew all the sordid details of the previous evening. He wondered if she found him lacking or if she thought he had done the right thing.

Now that he had been discovered, Tyrion knew he could no longer hang back among the rabble scrambling to make ready for the royal departure. He steeled himself against the pain still thumping in his temples and approached the little group waiting in the middle of the yard.

"Good morning, Tyrion," Daenerys said with a genuine smile. "Nice of you to join us."

"Did you really think I would pass up the opportunity to bid you farewell?"

"I was beginning to wonder. After all, our wines stores are at least one cask shorter this morning, and that is even after all the wedding libations have been accounted for."

He laughed. "What can I say? It was such a joyous occasion, I felt the need to celebrate."

Tyrion hazarded a glance up at Sansa. Her head was still held high, and she refused to look at him. He knew it hadn't been a joyous occasion for either of them, but his pride was getting the best of him this morning.

"Well, I hope your celebrating is over for the foreseeable future," Daenerys replied. "You have much more important work to do."

"Yes, of course. I will do everything within my power to be a responsible Lord of Winterfell. Isn't that right, Lady Sansa?"

She finally looked at him. Her gaze was colder than the snow at their feet. "We have different definitions of the word 'responsible,' my lord."

Before Tyrion could reply, Jon interjected, "I am certain you will both take very good care of Winterfell and all its people. We could not be leaving it in better hands."

Sansa nodded curtly in Jon's direction, and Tyrion silently exhaled a relieved sigh. The last thing he wanted was to leave Jon and Daenerys with the impression that they'd made a terrible mistake by allowing the match.

Ser Davos came forward then to inform Jon that all was ready for their departure. The royal couple said their goodbyes with little fanfare. Jon hugged both of his cousins tightly before taking his leave, though neither girl shed a tear. Life had made the Stark girls far too hardened for such public shows of emotion, but Tyrion knew they both loved Jon dearly.

As Daenerys moved past Tyrion on her way to her horse, she stopped for just a moment. "You've done well," she said, loud enough for only him to hear. "It will get better." Then, she offered him a small smile before moving on to mount her steed.

Tyrion turned, along with Sansa and Arya, to watch Jon and Daenerys depart. All of Daenerys' followers were going with her. Bronn was traveling with the caravan on his way to the Twins. Tyrion didn't know when they'd see each other again. Although Winterfell would always be bustling with activity, with the royal party gone, it suddenly felt eerily empty. Tyrion had never felt more alone in his life.

"I would like a private word with you, my lord," Sansa said quietly as she stood beside him staring at the horses retreating through the gate. "That is, if you are sober enough to talk."

"There is a huge difference between being drunk and suffering the aftereffects of drink, my lady. I can assure you, I am no longer drunk. I am suffering from a crippling headache though."

Sansa finally turned to look down at him, and Tyrion was forced to pull his eyes away from the gate.

There was still a coldness in her eyes as she said, "I would prefer to speak with you when you are clearheaded."

"Oh, I don't know if I've ever been clearheaded in my entire life."

"You will join me in my chamber for the afternoon meal. Is that understood?"

Sansa was treating him like an errant child, and Tyrion disliked it very much. And, had she been anyone else, he would have told her so. But the truth was, he didn't want to antagonize his new bride. He wanted to build a life with her. So, instead, he simply said, "Of course."

Sansa offered him a curt nod and then turned away and headed toward the Great Hall.

Tyrion just stood there and watched her go. They had been married for less than a day, and already his wife was displeased with him. He knew he shouldn't be surprised. But still, he had hoped for better.

"You won't give her what she wants, will you, my lord brother?"

Tyrion turned around to see Arya standing behind him. He'd completely forgotten that she was there. "She is my wife," he said. "It is my duty to give her what she wants."

"Even when it's not what you want?"

Tyrion caught his breath. Arya knew. She knew everything, didn't she? Either Sansa had told her, or she had figured it out for herself. Either way, she knew what Sansa had asked of him, and she knew he had refused.

"I will always do what's best for Sansa. You have my word."

"Good. Because, if you don't, there will be consequences. You understand that, of course?"

"Of course."

Tyrion understood that better than most. Although Arya Stark had once been a sweet girl, the trials she had endured had changed her irrevocably. Though she always appeared calm and even-tempered, underneath, Tyrion knew she was capable of great, calculated evil. That part of Arya frightened him, and he was determined never to cross her, for he knew he couldn't handle the consequences.

"Then we understand each other," she said.

"Perfectly. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go find a cure for this headache before your sister starts making her demands."

"Then I bid you good day, my lord brother."

"Lady Arya." Tyrion turned and headed back toward his room. He needed a few more hours of sleep before he faced whatever it was that Sansa had in store for him.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Sansa paced her chamber in agitation. Tyrion was late. The afternoon meal had been laid out for them nearly a half hour earlier, and it was almost cold. She wondered if Tyrion was still abed. She was tempted to storm down to his chamber and pound on the door until he answered, but she resisted the urge. She could not show any sign of weakness to her people, not even anger. She needed to appear calm and in control at all times. It was imperative if she hoped to maintain their respect.

There was a soft knock at the door, and Sansa finally stopped pacing. She turned toward the sound, inhaling a calming breath and squaring her shoulders. While she wanted Tyrion to know that she was displeased with him, she did not want him to know that she had almost lost control. She would never let him see her in such a state if she could help it. Theirs was a political marriage, not a love match. He did not deserve the privilege of seeing her at her worst.

"Come in," Sansa said in a cool, even voice.

The door opened, and Tyrion stepped inside. He looked much better than he had that morning. His eyes were clear, and his skin was no longer pale. "My lady," he said as he closed the door behind him.

"You're late."

"My apologies. I lost track of the time."

"You mean you were still abed."

"I mean, I didn't realize how late the hour was. I am sorry if my tardiness has caused you any distress."

"Sit down."

Tyrion crossed the floor to the table. He pulled out the chair beside Sansa and waited for her to sit. She could not ignore the chivalrous gesture, so she lowered herself down onto the seat. As soon as she was settled, Tyrion rounded the table and hoisted himself up onto the chair opposite her. They were now on an even level, and Sansa was relieved that she was no longer towering above him.

Tyrion's gaze traveled over the table as if in search of something.

"I instructed the servants to forgo the wine," Sansa said. "You shall have to settle for tea."

Tyrion's eyes instantly found hers. "You can't be serious."

"You had more than enough last night. You certainly don't need any more now."

"You obviously don't know how I function, do you?"

"I would like one reasonable conversation with you, unclouded by the effects of drink. I don't think that is too much to ask. Do you?"

"No, I suppose not."

Sansa set about putting food on her plate. She thought it would be easier for them to talk if their attention wasn't solely focused on each other. The afternoon meal was a welcome distraction.

"I want you to know that I understand your position regarding the consummation of our marriage," she said, "but I must insist that you agree to my demands." It was easier to say the words without looking at him. It helped her feel more in control and less like a skittish little girl.

Tyrion pulled himself up farther in his chair so that he could reach across the table. He began filling his plate as well. "And while I understand your position on the matter, I must insist that you agree to my demands."

Sansa's hand stopped in midair, hovering over the table. She looked at Tyrion. He was still filling his plate as if his words hadn't had any effect on her at all.

When she didn't speak, he finally looked up at her. "I'm sorry. Is there a problem?"

Sansa sat back, dropping her hands to her lap. "You can't possibly understand my position if you are still so obstinate about yours."

"And neither can you," he replied matter-of-factly.

It was clear that they were at an impasse, and Sansa was not happy. Why did he have to make this so difficult? Any other man would have gladly taken her up on her offer. In fact, there were probably a dozen men in the yard at that very moment who wouldn't have thought twice about bedding her if she'd told them she was willing. Why couldn't Tyrion be like other men? Why did he have to be so . . . so . . . Tyrion?

"I don't understand what the problem is," she replied. "Is it that you can't fulfill your obligation?"

"Oh, I can. I assure you."

"Then you have a responsibility to do so. You spoke vows. You took me as your wife. You must fulfill your husbandly duties if you are to stay true to them."

"Sansa," he said, his voice suddenly softening, "you don't really want this."

"Yes, I do."

Tyrion's eyes drifted toward the bed, and he was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he said, "That was your parents' bed, wasn't it?"

Sansa's breath caught in her throat, and she was shocked into stillness for a moment. She had never expected Tyrion to say such a thing, and she was wary of why he had said it.

"Well?" he prompted, turning his gaze back to her.

It took Sansa a moment to get her bearings. When she was finally capable of speech again, she said, "Yes, it was."

"And your parents loved each other very much, didn't they?"

"Yes, they did, but—"

"Do you really want to taint the memory of that love by inviting me into that bed?"

"You are the Lord of Winterfell," she tried to reason.

"That I am, but I do not deserve a place there until you welcome me with your heart."

Sansa shook her head. "No, this is a practical matter, and that is just a bed, nothing more. There is no reason why you can't lie with me there." It hurt Sansa's heart to say it, because the truth was, Tyrion was right. But she had made up her mind, and she would not allow him to sway her with sentimentality. "If you are not comfortable sleeping here, you are welcome to leave once your duty is done. After all, it will only take a minute of your time. Surely, you can spare me that."

Tyrion choked. "You don't really think it takes only a—" He stopped himself, his countenance sobering. "Of course, you do, don't you?"

Although Ramsay Bolton had always taken his time torturing her beforehand, the act itself had always been blessedly brief. More than once, Sansa had counted the seconds he had been inside her, trying to distract herself from the ordeal. He had never gone past a minute, for which she had always been grateful. Sansa assumed that all men were the same, and if Tyrion would only agree to do his duty, the ordeal could be over quite quickly.

"In the time we have sat here just now," she said, "you could have fulfilled your obligation ten times over."

Tyrion shook his head, a sadness behind his eyes that Sansa didn't understand. He looked away from her then and glanced about the table as if he'd forgotten that there was no wine. Instead, he poured a goblet of water and downed it in one swig. When he lowered the cup, he grimaced in disgust but didn't comment.

"Is the thought of lying with me that distasteful to you?" she asked, unable to keep the hurt from her voice.

"No, no," he said, his gaze focused on the bottom of his empty glass, "it's not you. It's the situation. After what you've been through, I don't want to make things worse."

"You can't possibly make things worse."

Tyrion put the cup down and finally looked up at her again. "Why is this so important to you? Why are you fighting so hard for something you clearly don't want?"

Sansa was afraid to let her guard down, even with her own husband. She had done it the night before, and it had been a mistake. She didn't know if she should trust him again. She was afraid of being vulnerable with anyone, much less the man who had the power to make her life a misery. And yet, if she wasn't honest with him, if she didn't show some vulnerability, their alliance would grow even weaker than it already was.

"I haven't known a single day of peace or security since the day I left for King's Landing all those years ago. I've had everything I've ever loved taken away from me, at one time or another. My family, my name, my home. I want peace in my life. I want to know who I am and where I stand. I want there to be no doubt in anyone's mind who I am. I am the Lady of Winterfell. I am the Lady of Casterly Rock. I am your wife. I need the world to know that before all of it is taken away from me on someone else's whim."

Tyrion looked at her for a long time as if weighing each and every syllable of her impassioned speech. Sansa waited impatiently, her cheeks flushed red, her breath shallow. She needed to know if he would accept her reasons or if he would continue to fight her as he had before.

"Well, my lord?" she said when she could no longer bear the silence.

It took Tyrion a moment, but finally, he said, "I will give you what you want."

Sansa exhaled a relieved sigh, her whole body relaxing. A terrible weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and she finally felt as if she could breathe again. "Do I have your word that you won't change your mind?"

"You have my word," he said, his voice surprisingly soft.

"Thank you, my lord."

"If I'm to share your bed, I would prefer that you call me Tyrion."

"Of course, Tyrion."

Tyrion sighed and turned his gaze toward the bed. "When would you like to do this?" he asked, his eyes transfixed on the blanket of furs covering the mattress.

Sansa's skin flushed cold. She had been so focused on getting Tyrion to say yes that she hadn't given any thought to what would happen once he did. Although it was only the middle of the afternoon, there was nothing to stop him from taking her right then and there. She wondered if she should just let him get it over with, but with every second that passed, her courage deserted her more and more. She was not prepared for him. She needed time and distance before she finally sacrificed herself to their marriage bed.

"I think it can wait until we retire this evening," Sansa replied, her heart fluttering anxiously. She had given herself only a small reprieve. That night, she would finally give herself to Tyrion Lannister. There would be no turning back.

Tyrion's shoulders slumped in relief, and he finally looked at Sansa again. "I think that's a wise idea," he replied. He pushed himself to the edge of the chair. "Now, if you don't mind, I will take my leave until this evening."

"Of course."

Tyrion hopped off the chair and turned to leave. Before he reached the door, Sansa called out to him. "Tyrion."

He stopped, turning around to look at her.

"I only ask one thing of you tonight," she said.

"And that is?"

"I want you to be sober when you come to me. Please. It's all I ask."

Tyrion scowled, though that scowl quickly changed to a look of understanding. "You have my word, . . . Sansa."

She nodded curtly, and he turned and exited the room.

The moment the door was closed, Sansa collapsed against the back of the chair. She wished now that she had allowed there to be wine at the table. Tyrion would not return to her chamber for many hours, but she was already trembling with anticipation. Sansa didn't want to welcome him to her bed, but she had no choice. She only had to survive the ordeal once – just once – and everything would be fine. She knew she was strong enough to survive what lay before her, and yet, she wished she could avoid it just the same.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note:

I just want to thank everyone who has stayed with this story this far. I also want to thank everyone who has taken the time to comment. I truly appreciate all your insights and support.

I know this story has been painful at times. And I hate to say it, but things are about to get just a bit more heartbreaking for our beloved Tyrion and Sansa. Things will get better though, I promise. This is a romance, after all, and it will have a happily-ever-after. It's just going to take some time for Tyrion and Sansa to get there.

* * *

Chapter Nine

Later that night, after the evening meal was long finished and everyone else had gone to bed, Tyrion stood outside Sansa's door trying to summon up the courage to knock and go inside.

It had been a hellish day since the moment he had first cracked open an eye and seen Bronn standing beside his bed. His headache had disappeared hours ago, but his mind was still in turmoil. Tyrion would have given just about anything for even a sip of wine, anything to combat the chaos and self-doubt whirling in his head. He had spent all day trying to convince himself that he had done the right thing by agreeing to bed Sansa. And yet, even now, as he stood outside her door, he wasn't sure that he had.

He knew she was suffering. He knew that consummating their marriage would give her a feeling of security that she had long been denied. He just didn't know if he was capable of giving her what she wanted.

Tyrion knew what Sansa expected. She expected him to get on top of her, hike up her shift, and push himself inside her. She expected it to be over and done with in mere moments. And he wished, he truly wished, that he could do that for her. But he wasn't sure that he could. There was nothing arousing about the current situation. In fact, it was all rather horrifying, and Tyrion questioned his ability to complete the act. He would try, of course, but only because he had promised. Had he not given her his word, he would have already turned around and made his escape.

Tyrion's stomach twisted in an agonizing knot as he raised one hand and finally knocked on the door.

It took only a moment for Sansa to reply, "Come in."

Tyrion knew this was his last chance to turn away, but he couldn't. His duty had to be done, and there would be no running from it.

He opened the door and stepped inside, immediately closing it behind him. The chamber was softly lit, the warm glow of the fireplace and the moonlight from the window the only sources of light. Tyrion gazed about the room, searching for his bride. She was standing in the far corner dressed in her nightshift, her long red hair lying loosely about her shoulders. She looked like she was bathed in fire, and Tyrion's cock twitched unexpectedly, despite his personal misgivings.

"I thought you weren't coming," she said softly, a hint of accusation in her voice.

"I almost didn't."

"But you gave me your word."

"Hence, why I am here," he said, holding out his arms as if to present himself.

Sansa glanced nervously at the bed and then back at Tyrion. He knew she was trying to maintain an air of strength, but he knew her too well to be fooled. She was scared. Probably more scared than he was, if that was possible.

He was scared to hurt her, and she was scared to be hurt. What a wonderful pair they made.

"Sansa," he began, determined to give her one last chance to save herself, "we don't have to do this tonight."

She squared her shoulders and raised her chin in determination. "I am ready for you, my lord."

"Tyrion," he corrected.

She looked confused for a moment, as if she were a traveling actress and he had thrown her off her well-practiced script. It took her a second to recover. "Tyrion."

Tyrion closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, trying to keep himself from losing control. He wanted to yell at her, to tell her that she didn't have to do this, that it could wait, that there would be time later. But that was the last thing she needed. She needed him to be patient and understanding. She needed him to give her what she had asked for. And, even though it wasn't what either of them wanted, at the very least, he had to try.

Tyrion sighed heavily and opened his eyes. Sansa had not moved. Although she was looking directly at him, he could tell that she was seeing right through him. Already, her mind had taken her someplace else. Whether that was a good place or a bad place he didn't know. He just knew she had already begun distancing herself from him in anticipation of what was to come.

"Sansa," he said her name again, and she blinked as if he had dragged her back to the present. He held his hand out toward the bed, "Perhaps you would like to . . ." He couldn't finish. He was a man who had spent his whole life manipulating words like a master craftsman, and yet, now, they completely failed him.

Sansa nodded stiffly. She reached up to hook her fingers beneath the straps of her shift, intent on stripping it off.

"Don't," Tyrion said, stopping her. "There's no need for that. Just get into bed." He didn't want to cause her any unnecessary embarrassment. He wasn't there to leer at her, just to make good on his promise.

Without a word, Sansa turned toward the bed. She drew back the furs and settled herself beneath them, lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling. Tyrion knew he had no choice but to join her. It was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. He would rather have fought an army of White Walkers than lay in his wife's bed, but he didn't have that luxury.

Instead, Tyrion rounded the bed, stopping on the opposite side. He was surprised to find a small set of wooden steps waiting for him there. Despite Sansa's seeming indifference to him, she was always thoughtful where his height was concerned. She never, ever made him feel small. Perhaps it was a lesson she had learned on their first wedding day back in King's Landing. Joffrey had done everything he could to publicly humiliate Tyrion for his height. Sansa seemed determined never to let that happen again, even in private.

Had Tyrion been any less distressed, he would have smiled at the thought. But he wasn't in a jovial mood. He didn't think all the wine in Westeros could have put a smile on his face at that moment.

Tyrion glanced at Sansa. She was still staring straight above her, her hands clasped beneath her breasts like a stone effigy. Her fiery hair was splayed all about her, the only color in the dim tableau. If he hadn't been able to detect the rise and fall of her chest beneath the fur blanket, he would have assumed she was a corpse.

Tyrion fought the urge to swear. Instead, he began removing his clothing, his fingers trembling like those of an untried youth. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been nervous getting into bed with a woman. It had been far too many years ago.

It took Tyrion longer than he would have liked to undress. When he was in nothing more than his long, linen shirt, he finally climbed the steps to the bed.

Tyrion stopped the moment he rested his knee on the mattress. Looking at Sansa, lying there so still and quiet, filled him with dread. How was he supposed to do this? How was he supposed to bed her without hurting her? He knew it wasn't possible, but he had given her his word that he wouldn't turn away.

Tamping down his better judgment, Tyrion slipped beneath the heavy blanket and lay on his side, facing his wife. She was so beautiful. There was no denying that. He longed to touch her, to stroke her hair, to kiss her. But he couldn't do any of those things. Regardless of his skill as a lover, he knew she was in no state to be seduced. He feared that if he so much as tried to caress her cheek, she would flinch. He didn't want her to associate his touch with fear or pain. He wanted her to want him, even though he knew she never could.

"Is something wrong?" she asked when he failed to move.

"I find . . . I find that I don't quite know how to proceed."

Sansa turned her head on the pillow and stared at him in something akin to disbelief.

"I mean, I know what to do," he stammered. "I'm just not sure how to do it to you."

"Am I that undesirable?"

Tyrion shook his head. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

"It's going to hurt."

"I know. I'm prepared for the pain."

He laughed. "Not just you. It's going to hurt me too. I do not want to do this, Sansa."

"You gave your word."

"I know, but—"

"You are Lord of Winterfell. Your word is your bond. You have no choice." She turned away then, staring up at the ceiling again.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Tyrion swore silently in his head. She was determined, and he couldn't fight her. He knew that, whatever happened, he was going to hate himself in the morning, but he knew what had to be done.

Tyrion moved closer, reaching for the hem of her nightgown, clutching it between trembling fingers.

Sansa didn't move. She remained deathly still as if he hadn't touched her at all.

His heart beating in his throat, Tyrion slid the hem of her gown upward, releasing it just below her sex. He placed one shaking hand on her knee, and she instantly spread her legs for him. A cold flush swept his entire body, and he prayed for an excuse to retreat. At that moment, he would have been overjoyed if Winterfell had been in flames and Podrick had come to the door screaming, "Fire!" Anything to be able to walk away. But there was no fire, and there was no turning back.

With great effort, Tyrion shifted on the bed, climbing between Sansa's legs and settling there on his knees. Her eyes were closed now, and he wondered where she had gone off to in her head. He hoped it was someplace pleasant, because he was in one of the Seven Hells.

Although his mind was wholeheartedly against what he had to do, his body had no such qualms. It had been ages since he had been with a woman, and Sansa was achingly beautiful. His cock was painfully hard for her, even though he had never been more disgusted by anything in his life. He hoped that he could be quick, just this once, just to cause her as little pain and humiliation as possible. He leaned over her and positioned himself between her thighs.

But he couldn't move.

Tyrion hovered over her for the longest time, trying to force himself to move forward, but he couldn't. She was an innocent. A sweet, warm, wonderful girl who had only ever known the touch of a madman. She didn't deserve to be used by anyone. She deserved to be loved, to be made love to. What he was about to do was wrong, and he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Tyrion moved to pull away, but Sansa's hand wrapped around his cock, and he instantly froze.

Without conscious thought, Tyrion's eyes found hers. He didn't know which of them was more shocked. She had a wild, desperate look in her eyes as if she would do anything to keep from being abandoned. Tyrion wanted to pull away, but he couldn't. His flesh throbbed where she touched him, and he thought he might come right there in her hand.

Tyrion leaned into her, curious to see what she intended to do.

Some of the desperation disappeared from her eyes as she drew him forward, leading the tip of his cock into her folds. Then, she moved her hand away and waited for him to continue.

Tyrion stared at her in stunned disbelief. He had never expected her to do something so brazen, and yet, he knew it was an act of desperation, not passion, that had driven her to do it. He could feel her warmth enveloping him, beckoning him onward. He was losing the battle that had been raging inside him ever since he had stepped into her bedchamber that night.

Tyrion couldn't resist her any longer. Keeping his eyes locked with Sansa's, he moved forward, slowly pushing himself inside her. She winced in pain as he entered, but she refused to break his gaze.

Tyrion had expected her to be painfully dry, but she wasn't. Of course, she wasn't exactly wet and waiting for him either, but he knew, if he was careful, he could at least accomplish his task without tearing her walls or making her bleed.

He moved inside her with practiced finesse, his gaze transfixed on her crystal blue eyes. There was an understanding between them, a connection that had nothing to do with physical pleasure. They were in this together, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, striving to accomplish a mutual goal for the good of their people. Sansa trusted him. He could see it in her eyes. She wanted this, not because she wanted him, but because she wanted to be his, once and for all.

Tyrion did his best to stay in control, but the closer he got to finishing, the more difficult it was. Soon enough, his resolve faltered. He closed his eyes, losing sight of his beautiful bride, and concentrated on the feel of her around him. He knew she wasn't getting any pleasure from their coupling, but he was. He couldn't stop himself. He moved within her as quickly as he could, hoping to find release. The sooner he came, the sooner she would be free of him.

Tyrion searched his mind, trying to find something, anything, that would push him over the edge. Finally, he fixated on the memory of her small, delicate hand wrapped around his cock, and he instantly came, swearing beneath his breath. For a moment, the world went black. When Tyrion was fully conscious again, he found himself hovering above Sansa, barely able to breathe.

Tyrion instantly pushed himself off of her, collapsing on the bed by her side. He stared up at the ceiling in wonderment, amazed by what had just happened. He had never intended to get any pleasure from the act, but he had. He had enjoyed it. He just hoped that Sansa didn't hate him for it.

When Tyrion had finally caught his breath, he hazarded a glance at his wife. Her eyes were closed, and there was a pained look on her face. Tyrion's heart sank in his chest, and he instantly felt wretched.

"Sansa," he whispered her name, afraid to even speak it.

She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes."

"Are you certain? You look like you're in pain."

She shook her head. "No. But I think I would like to sleep now."

"Of course." Tyrion pushed the covers off and sat up on the edge of the bed. He secretly wished that Sansa would ask him to stay, but she didn't. So, he descended the steps and gathered up his clothing. He didn't bother getting dressed, since the rest of the household was already asleep.

Tyrion turned and looked at Sansa. She was still lying motionless on the bed, her gaze transfixed on the ceiling above her. "Good night, Sansa."

"Good night, Tyrion," she replied softly, without turning to look at him.

Tyrion sighed and turned around, exiting the room as quietly as he could. He retreated to his own chamber. After he'd washed himself up, he sat down and poured himself a large goblet full of wine.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Sansa lay there for the longest time, unable to move. Her heart was pounding, and her skin was flushed with sweat. There was an uncomfortable ache between her legs, coupled with an unpleasant stickiness that made her feel just a little bit ill. She knew she should be able to move, but she couldn't.

She didn't know quite what she had expected, but she had not been adequately prepared for her encounter with Tyrion. She had thought the whole thing would be over within mere moments, but it had lasted considerably longer. And while it had not been the most pleasant of experiences, it had been far from the nightmare she was used to. It had been uncomfortable, yes, but not brutally painful, despite the fact that Tyrion was just as well-endowed as Ramsay Bolton, if not more so.

Sansa had expected simply to close her eyes and lie very still, but when Tyrion had moved to leave her without even attempting to fulfill his duty, she had panicked. Never in her life had she imagined touching a man so intimately, and yet, in her desperate need to keep him from abandoning her, she had done just that.

Sansa's cheeks flamed pink at the memory, and she closed her eyes in an attempt to hide from it. But when she did, all she saw was Tyrion staring back at her, his eyes locked in solidarity with hers, as he moved inside her.

Sansa opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling again. Every time Ramsay Bolton had taken her, the instant she had been left alone, she had crawled out of bed and scrubbed herself clean. And although the temptation was there to do just that now, she knew it was unwise. Tyrion had left his seed inside her. She needed to give it time to quicken. She could not wash away the evidence of his passion for fear that she would rob herself of the chance to produce an heir. Sansa wished her life consisted of more than duty, but it didn't. Her own heart, her own desires, didn't matter. All that mattered was her obligations to her people, to Winterfell.

The hour was late, and Sansa knew she should try to sleep. She closed her eyes again, imagining what kind of child she and Tyrion might have. Would it be a dwarf, like its father? She shivered involuntarily at the thought. She wanted her children to be normal, to walk in the world without being persecuted at every turn. She wanted the yard to be full of healthy little wolves playing and laughing and enjoying life. But she knew that was an unlikely future. Tyrion's mother had died giving birth to him. There was every chance that she would suffer the same fate.

The truth was, Sansa didn't want to bear Tyrion's children, but she knew she would have to. Or at least, try to. And she would make the best of it when she did. After all, what choice did she have?

When Sansa finally found the courage to move, she turned onto her side, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, hugging herself in the dimly lit room. It was done. She and Tyrion had consummated their marriage, and now, no one could separate them. For the first time since she had left Winterfell for King's Landing all those years ago, she knew who she was and where she stood in the world. She was Sansa Lannister, the Lady of Winterfell and Casterly Rock, and no one could take that away from her.

Sansa sighed, her body finally relaxing. She was safe now. Finally. And she would do her best to make the most of it.

* * *

Sansa awoke late the next morning. Sleep had claimed her quickly the night before, and she'd had her first restful sleep in ages.

She allowed her maidservant to help her out of bed, hoping that the girl would notice the disheveled bedsheets and realize what had happened. Of course, there was no blood, since Sansa was no longer a maiden, but she hoped the soiled sheets would be evidence enough. Gossip traveled quickly among the servants, and Sansa wanted it known that her marriage had been consummated and could no longer be torn asunder.

Sansa asked for a bath to be brought, a luxury she didn't often allow herself. She soaked in the tub until the water turned cold, allowing the ache from the previous night to ease from her muscles. She scrubbed her skin clean and washed her hair, before finishing her bath and letting her handmaiden dress her for the day.

It was just before noon when Sansa finally left her chamber. The day before, she had agreed to accompany some of the northern lords out into the environs surrounding Winterfell to assess the damage that had been done during the war. Even though there was still snow on the ground, it was only a mere inch or two, nothing of concern for those born and raised in the North. Sansa was looking forward to getting on horseback and riding out into the countryside, even if it was on official business as lady of the keep.

When Sansa entered the yard, she was surprised to see Tyrion there, talking to the men. Her feet faltered, and she stopped dead still, her eyes transfixed on her husband.

He had his back to her, but even so, there seemed to be something different about him this morning. Or maybe it was just the way she saw him that had changed. For better or worse, he was her husband now, in every sense of the word, and it made her look at him with different eyes.

Tyrion was laughing and joking with the other men, and they all seemed charmed by his humor. But then, he was a master with words, so why shouldn't they be?

Sansa's heart skipped a single beat, and her skin flushed warmly. What would he think when he finally saw her? Would his memory take him back to the night before and what they had shared? Did the men know? Did everyone know?

Of course, Sansa wanted everyone to know, on a rational level, and yet, the idea made her feel embarrassed and uneasy. Lady of Winterfell or not, she would assuredly be the subject of much gossip once everyone knew, and she didn't know how she would bare it.

Sansa inhaled a steadying breath and continued on her path. As she approached, Tyrion turned to greet her.

"Good morning, Lady Sansa." His countenance was cheerful, without a hint of tension or awkwardness. It was as if nothing had passed between them at all the night before.

Sansa couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.

"Good morning, my lord." She turned her attention toward the small group of men, "My lords."

They all greeted her politely, giving her no indication that anything was amiss.

"I have decided to join you on your outing," Tyrion said. "If you have no objections."

"Of course not," Sansa replied reflexively. She was surprised to find that Tyrion wanted to go with them, after all, he wasn't obliged to. She had agreed to accompany the men, not him. Had it been any other day, Sansa would have been glad to see him taking an interest in the goings on at Winterfell, but under the current circumstances, she feared being too close to him. Her mind and heart were on shaky ground, and she wasn't prepared to spend the next several hours riding beside him, making idle conversation.

"Shall we then?" Tyrion held his hand out toward the team of horses waiting in the center of the yard.

Sansa walked past him to her own steed, where her groom helped her up into the saddle. Podrick assisted Tyrion as he mounted the horse beside hers. Astride, she and Tyrion were nearly at equal height.

The small party of riders exited through the East Gate, the men leading the way. Sansa and Tyrion rode behind, just a bit, with Brienne following them for protection.

Sansa sat stiffly in the saddle. She was playing a role, and she needed to keep her dignity at all times. She kept her eyes on the path ahead, determined not to look at her husband for fear that he might see too much emotion in her eyes.

"I hope you don't find it impertinent of me to join your party this morning," Tyrion said.

"Quite the contrary," Sansa replied. "I am happy that you are taking an interest in Winterfell and its people. You are Warden of the North now. You should be involved in every aspect of its upkeep."

"That is my hope. And perhaps, someday, when things are settled here, you will join me at Casterly Rock and we can do some good there as well."

Sansa looked at Tyrion in surprise. His gaze was focused on the party ahead of them. He looked so confident this morning, as if he could conquer the world. She wondered if it was a result of what had happened between them the night before.

"I don't know how I feel about going to Casterly Rock. If given a choice, I don't think I'd ever leave Winterfell again."

Tyrion finally looked at her. "You may feel that way now, but someday, you may feel differently. And, if you ever do, I would like to take you there. It's a beautiful place, under the right direction, and I would like to share it with you."

There was a warmth to his tone that made Sansa's heart beat just a little bit faster. Something had changed between them. Tyrion was talking to her more like a husband and less like a political ally. It was a little disconcerting. Sansa wasn't sure she was ready for it.

Discomforted by his scrutiny, she turned her attention back to the road. "I shall take your request into consideration, but only after spring has arrived."

"Fair enough."

Sansa was afraid to spend too much time alone with Tyrion. She was afraid of what might be said. "Perhaps we should join the others," she suggested. "As Lord and Lady of Winterfell, we should not lag behind."

Then, before waiting for him to answer, she urged her horse to pick up its pace and overtook him, heading toward the small group traveling before them. Tyrion soon joined her, and they spent the rest of the journey talking with the men about the plan for the day.

The morning quickly turned into afternoon as they traveled the countryside, stopping to talk with tenant farmers about crop stores and the structural damages their properties had suffered during the war. Buildings had been destroyed, defensive walls decimated. Much of the North needed to be rebuilt as soon as possible, and it was up to Sansa and Tyrion to decide which projects were the most urgent and which could wait until spring.

Sansa was impressed by how engaged Tyrion was with everyone he met. No complaint was too trivial for him to listen to, from highborn lord to farmer's wife. He was patient and understanding, and everyone treated him with a respect that had surely been earned by his reputation alone. The people of the North knew of his connection to their new queen. And even though he was a Lannister, his loyalty to Daenerys and the entire Stark family had earned him their gratitude. It was a relief to see that the people Sansa was sworn to protect approved of her choice. It made her decision a little easier for her to live with.

When the sun began its descent below the horizon, the small party finally turned back toward home. Tyrion and Sansa had agreed to take all that they had learned into consideration and discuss it at length before deciding how they were going to proceed. It had been a productive day, and Sansa was quite pleased. As they rode back to Winterfell, she was much more comfortable riding beside Tyrion. This time, she purposefully hung back so that she could talk to him privately.

"Thank you, Tyrion," she said as their horses trotted slowly toward home.

"For what?"

"For being a reasonable, honorable man. For taking an interest in my people."

"They're my people too now. Or had you forgotten?"

"Even so. Thank you."

"You are quite welcome."

Tyrion had been convivial all day. Kind and good-natured. Working together had made it easy for Sansa to forget her apprehensions about their relationship. But now that the work was done and they were alone again, her insecurities began to resurface. Tyrion had shared her bed once. Just once. And although that was all it took to consummate a marriage, she wondered if he intended to visit her again. She feared that he did, and before she could feel completely at ease with him, she needed to know for certain.

An uneasy tingle sparked along Sansa's spine as she prepared herself to question him about his intentions. She kept her eyes focused on the road as she said, "May I ask you something of a delicate nature?"

"You may ask me anything, Sansa. My life is yours to question and command."

Sansa hoped that wasn't true. She hadn't done such a wonderful job of taking care of her own life. She didn't want to be responsible for anyone else's. "What are your intentions, now that we are truly man and wife?"

"To be the best husband I can be."

"And does that involve visiting my bed again?" Sansa's cheeks burned red, even in the cool winter air. She was uncomfortable being so blunt, but she couldn't find any other words to ask her question.

Tyrion pulled his horse to a halt, forcing Sansa to stop as well. She finally turned to look at him. His countenance had turned serious, and she was suddenly sorry that she had chosen to question him in the first place.

"Sansa," he said softly, "when I said that I would not share your bed until you wanted me to, I meant it. Not just the first time, but every time. I will never force you. I will never ask you for anything you're not willing to give. Do you understand that?"

Sansa straightened her spine, trying to maintain as much of her dignity as possible. "I understand that you waited until I invited you. But now that . . . the deed has been done, what is to stop you from expecting it again?"

"You, Sansa, you. When you are ready, when you invite me into your bed again, I will come to you. But not before."

"And what if I never invite you again?"

Tyrion sighed heavily, his eyes finally leaving hers. He gazed off at Winterfell in the distance. "Then I shall content myself with my other husbandly duties, like protecting Winterfell."

"But men have needs that women don't. You more than most, by all accounts."

Tyrion laughed bitterly. "Women have the same needs as men. Don't let anyone tell you differently."

"I don't have those kinds of needs."

"Of course, you do. You've just been too scarred by the world to know it." Tyrion looked at her again. There was a softness in his eyes that she hadn't expected. "Sansa, you have done more than enough for your people and for me. I don't want anything more from you. Please, you must trust me. You and I could be quite happy together, just as we are, even if I never share your bed again."

He sounded so sincere. Sansa wanted to believe him. But she knew that men did have needs, that Tyrion's needs were infamous, and she didn't know how he was supposed to content himself with a wife who intended to keep him at arms' length for the rest of his life. She was asking too much of him, she knew that. He had sacrificed his life in King's Landing for her, his position as Hand of the Queen. She owed him something for all he had done for her.

"I have been told that there are women in the village who are more than happy to service men for a price," she said.

Tyrion laughed again, though this time there was no bitterness in the sound. "Yes, I've heard of them. They're called whores."

"Yes, well, they are available to you, whenever you want, if you should be so inclined."

Tyrion shook his head. "No, thank you. My whoring days are over. Now, drinking? I think I will be doing a lot of drinking in the days to come."

"I wish you wouldn't."

"I wish I wouldn't too, but a man must have some outlet for his frustrations." And with that, Tyrion spurred his horse, taking off toward Winterfell.

Sansa didn't follow. She watched as he rode toward the castle, the fading light casting blue shadows on the snow around him. She knew she couldn't hold out forever. Someday, she would have to lie with him again. After all, unless there was already a child growing inside her, Winterfell still needed an heir. She just hoped that, when the time came, she was ready for it. Because, if given a choice at that moment, she would have chosen never to lie with Tyrion, or any other man, ever again.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Tyrion chose to take the evening meal alone that night. He'd spent all day with Sansa, and he had truly thought they had made some progress until she had offered to let him visit the local brothel with her blessing. It was the last thing Tyrion wanted. Of course, he knew Sansa would never love him, knew that she'd probably never even enjoy having him in her bed, but he had hoped that his faithfulness might mean something to her. Did she think so little of him that she assumed he couldn't control his baser urges? Despite his reputation, he had hoped that she knew him a little better than that.

Tyrion drank deeply from his goblet, then leaned back in his chair with a defeated sigh. He was starting to regret his decision to marry Sansa Stark. He felt like a prisoner in his own life. He had a beautiful, intelligent, charming wife who wanted nothing to do with him. He would not seek the attention of other women, out of respect for her, and so he really would have to live like a septon for the rest of his days.

As Tyrion reached to refill his cup, there was a knock at the door. He wasn't expecting anyone, so he assumed it was just one of the servants come to clear away what was left of his meal. "Come in," he said as he watched the wine cascade like a bloody waterfall into his glass.

The door opened, and Tyrion was surprised to see Arya enter his chamber. "Good evening, my lord brother. May I join you?"

Tyrion looked at the table in front of him. The servants had only brought enough food for one, and he had already devoured most of it. "You're welcome to join me, though I don't have much to offer."

"That's fine. I've already had my supper." Arya closed the door and walked to the table, seating herself across from him.

She was such a strange girl, though that hadn't always been the case. Tyrion remembered when she had been just a scrawny little thing, running around in dresses and braids. The world had stolen her innocence, just as it had stolen Sansa's. Tyrion's heart ached to wonder what Catelyn Stark would think if she could see what had happened to her girls. They both deserved so much better than life had given them.

Although Arya had seen more of the world than he had – and had probably killed more men too – she was still just a girl, and Tyrion wasn't sure if he should offer her wine or not. He decided to treat her like an adult, not a child, and said, "Would you care for something to drink?"

She scrunched up her face in distaste. "No, thank you. I can't stand the stuff."

"Suit yourself." Tyrion took another sip of his drink as he watched Arya warily from across the table. Even when she was being kind to him, he always had the secret fear that she might slit his throat at any moment. When he put down his glass, he said, "To what do I owe the honor of your company, my lady sister?"

"I have heard a great deal of talk today about your afternoon out in the countryside."

"And?"

"And, I was surprised to find how well-liked you are by the people. I did not hear one bad word said about you. Not even about your height."

"Well, I am the Lord of Winterfell now. I hardly think it would be wise for anyone to publicly malign me. That's how people lose their heads."

"Is that a threat?" Arya asked, arching a brow in question.

Tyrion laughed. "Of course not. I don't make threats. Even if I did, who would ever take them seriously? All I meant was, that in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, that has been the usual way of things."

"We don't execute our own for speaking their minds. Maybe that is what you do in the South, but that is not how it is in the North. If someone doesn't like you, they will tell you."

"Well, I should hope so."

Arya stared at him, her dark eyes blank and unreadable. She was very good at masking her thoughts and emotions. It was impossibly unnerving.

Tyrion cleared his throat nervously. "I suppose, if you didn't like me, you would tell me."

"I would."

"And do you not like me?"

"I haven't decided yet."

Tyrion put the glass down. He knew Arya had come to see him for a reason, and he was desperate to know what it was. But she was being intentionally obtuse, and he knew he needed to stay focused if he was going to learn anything from their encounter. "Well, is there anything I can do to help you make your decision?"

"You fucked my sister last night."

Tyrion was momentarily stunned by her bluntness. He suddenly wished he hadn't put down his glass.

When he failed to speak, Arya laughed. "I've always heard that you were quite shameless, and yet, somehow, I've managed to shock you into silence."

Tyrion cleared his throat and forced himself to reply. "Oh, I am as shameless as everyone says, I assure you. I simply didn't expect to hear such words from my sweet, genteel sister-in-law."

Arya laughed again. "You would be surprised by some of the words I know."

"I'm sure you could teach me a thing or two in the art of swearing if given half a chance."

"I'm certain I could," she said with well-earned bravado.

Tyrion reached for his fork and began absently picking at the remains of the food on his plate. He needed something other than wine to occupy himself with as he sat there under Arya's scrutiny. "So," he said, steering the conversation back to the original subject, "what has your sister told you?"

"About last night?"

"Yes."

"Nothing."

"Then how do you know—?"

"I saw you leave her room."

Tyrion nodded as a faint chill flushed his skin. He was not surprised that Arya had taken to lurking in corridors and spying on people. It was as if Winterfell had its very own Spider. "Well, just because I left her room, doesn't mean—"

Arya shook her head, stopping him in mid-sentence. It was obvious that nothing he said was going to convince her that he and Sansa hadn't consummated their marriage the night before. Even though it was better that she knew, of course, he felt it was Sansa's secret to tell, not his. But then, perhaps, the two sisters weren't that close after all.

"Yes," Tyrion admitted. "We consummated our marriage."

"Good."

"Well, I'm glad you think so." Now, he did reach for a drink. The conversation was getting far too personal, and he needed a little liquid fortification.

"Don't you think so?"

"Well, I don't rightly know. Let's see," he said, holding up his cup and examining it thoughtfully. "My wife was so enraptured by my prowess in the bedchamber last night, that today, she suggested that the next time I have the urge to fuck something, I go do it in a brothel. So, no, I don't think it's a good thing." Then, he downed half the wine in his glass, to drown his humiliation.

"She didn't cry after you left."

Tyrion lowered the cup and looked at Arya. He wasn't sure, but he thought she was trying to offer him genuine consolation. "Are you certain? She's good at hiding her tears. That's all she did in King's Landing."

"I'm sure. I went to her door to make certain she was all right. She went right to sleep after you left. I think she was quite content."

"Content that her position was secure. Nothing more."

"That's more than anyone else has been able to give her. You shouldn't sell yourself short."

"Well," he said, holding out his arms and looking down at himself, "how can I not?"

Arya didn't laugh, and Tyrion lowered his arms in defeat.

"What do you want from her that you're not getting?" Arya asked. "It obviously isn't physical."

"No, it's not." He looked down into his cup. "She can't give me what I want."

"You want her to love you."

Tyrion's chest tightened, and his skin flushed warmly. It had nothing to do with the wine.

That was it, wasn't it? Tyrion hadn't put it in those words before, but when it came down to it, that was what he wanted. He wanted what Jon and Daenerys had. What Ned and Catelyn Stark had had. He wanted a wife who was his equal in everything, and he wanted her to love him.

Tyrion knew that Sansa could never feel that way about him. He was no handsome knight, no charming prince. He was a monster, a demon monkey, a halfman. He would never inspire love in one as beautiful as Sansa Stark. He knew that. He had always known it. But now that they had finally consummated their marriage, it was somehow a lot harder to take.

"Sansa is not capable of loving me," he said, his eyes still transfixed on the red liquid in his glass.

"You underestimate her."

Tyrion laughed, his eyes finally finding Arya's again. "Really? I believe her capable of a great many things but loving me isn't one of them."

"She's a very capable woman. She's had to be to survive this long. She can do extraordinary things, even fall in love with the likes of you."

"While I don't question her abilities in any other sense, I fear this might be the one place where she is lacking. And rightfully so. Why should she ever love me?"

"You know why."

Tyrion shook his head. "I can't think of a single reason."

Arya smirked, but she didn't say anything. She just got up from her chair and walked to the door.

Tyrion couldn't let her go. She knew something, and he needed to know what it was. He slipped off his chair and followed after her. "Lady Arya!"

She halted abruptly and turned on her heel, her hands clasped behind her back. "Yes, my lord brother?"

Tyrion stopped, leaving a comfortable distance between them. "I don't know why," he said, his voice filled with far too much desperation for his own liking.

"Yes, you do."

"No," he said haltingly, "I do not."

"Why did my sister marry you?"

"To secure an alliance between the North and the Westerlands."

"And people say you're so clever."

"All right, then. Why?"

"Because she trusts you more than she trusts any other man."

"She says that, but she doesn't show it."

"And she probably won't, any time soon. But she does trust you. And you deserve that trust, which means, she could very well love you someday."

Tyrion didn't believe it. Arya was young. She didn't know anything about love yet. Despite everything that the world had taught her in the past several years, Tyrion was certain that this was the one area where he knew more than she ever would.

Tyrion knew defending his position would do little good, so instead, he said, "So, you think I deserve her trust?"

"I said so, didn't I?"

"Does that mean you do like me?"

She smirked again. "Good night, Tyrion." She turned then and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Tyrion stared at the closed door. He liked Arya Stark, despite the uneasiness he often felt in her presence. She was a clever girl, astute and just as attuned to the truths of the world as he was. But she didn't know everything. Perhaps she truly believed that Sansa would love him one day, but he knew it would never happen.

Of course, Tyrion knew he could love Sansa quite easily, but he wouldn't allow himself even to entertain the thought. No, he would have to content himself with a long life of celibacy and drink, hoping only for his wife's respect and nothing more.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Sansa broke her fast in her bedchamber the next morning, alone. Her mind had been fraught with indecision, and she had needed the time to clear her head. There were many decisions still to be made about the future of Winterfell, not least of which was just how much she was willing to trust her new husband. Did she dare take him at his word that he did not intend to share her bed again? Even if his promise had been sincere, Sansa didn't know if he was capable of keeping it.

Of course, she had married Tyrion because she trusted him, but this was different. She knew he would never betray her or abuse her, unlike the other men she had been beholden to in her short lifetime. What she didn't know was if he could keep himself from her bed. After all, he was renowned in all of Westeros for his lechery. Could he really give up that particular vice just because they were married now? Sansa sincerely doubted it.

After the morning meal was passed, Sansa left her chamber and headed toward the Great Hall. Since becoming Lady of Winterfell, her mornings were no longer her own. She had messages and petitions waiting for her every day without fail. It was more work than she had expected, even with Maester Wolkan's help, but it was a trial she had no choice but to endure.

The Great Hall was quiet when Sansa entered. At first, she thought it was empty, but then she saw Tyrion sitting at the head table, his head bent over a scroll. The table in front of him was laid out, not with food, but with countless papers and books, much to Sansa's surprise. She had expected Tyrion to still be abed, sleeping off the effects of drink.

Tyrion hadn't seen her come in, and Sansa stopped in the doorway, taking a moment to examine him. He was dressed like a lord, in a Lannister-red tunic. His curly hair was less wayward than usual, and his beard was neatly trimmed. He looked refined and respectable, and for a moment, Sansa was even able to forget that he was a dwarf. There was just something captivating about the way he was sitting there, his brow furrowed deep in thought as he poured over the missive in his hand. In that moment, Sansa almost thought him handsome.

Sansa shook herself. She didn't know where that thought had come from, but it was a silly one, and she refused to entertain it. Instead, she walked into the room, moving toward the table. "Good morning, Tyrion."

He looked up, clearly surprised. "Sansa. How long have you been there?"

"Not long." She stopped on the other side of the table and looked down at the sea of paper laid out before him. It was at least a moonturn's worth of petitions from fellow northerners requesting aid of various kinds. Underneath the pile, she saw the corner of a map of the northern territories and several books whose titles she couldn't see. She looked up at Tyrion. "What is all this?"

"As I see it? It's my responsibility now, as much as yours. I hope you don't mind. I thought I should familiarize myself with some of the outstanding issues that are still under your consideration. Of course, if you'd rather that I didn't—"

Sansa shook her head. "No, no, it's fine. I could use the counsel."

"And I am happy to give it. Please," he said, turning to the chair next to him and removing the pile of books he had left on the seat, "join me."

Sansa was determined to make the most of Tyrion's diplomatic abilities. He was wise, and he knew a great deal about governing. She would not reject his counsel where matters of a political nature were concerned.

Sansa rounded the table and sat beside her husband. He smiled at her, and she smiled tentatively back. She gazed down at the table again, suddenly overwhelmed by the responsibility before her. "Are there really this many unanswered petitions? Sometimes it feels as if all I ever do is read them and answer them."

"They're not all unanswered," he reassured her. "I had everything that has come through Winterfell in the last moonturn brought to me. If I'm going to fully understand what the people need most, I need a clear picture of everything that has already been done for them."

Sansa stole a glance at Tyrion from the corner of her eye. He was looking at the letter in his hand again, and she couldn't help but feel that she had made a very wise decision in choosing him for a husband.

"You're very good at this, aren't you?" Sansa said.

"I like to solve problems. It's one of the few things I'm good at."

"I'm sure you're good at a great many things."

"Not as many as you might think. And most of those are vices, not graces."

He didn't elaborate, and Sansa was glad. She supposed he counted drinking and whoring among his greatest skills. She knew there was more to him than that, even if he refused to acknowledge it.

"May I ask you something?" Sansa said.

"You may ask me anything, dear wife." Tyrion finally stopped reading and looked up at her.

"Now that you are Lord of Winterfell, do you intend to take full command of the keep?"

His eyes narrowed at her. "What exactly do you mean?"

"I mean, I am only the Lady of Winterfell. Now that the castle has a lord to command it, there is really no need for me to be involved in such important matters," she said, nodding toward the petitions strewn about the table.

Tyrion shook his head. "Sansa, Winterfell is your ancestral home, not mine. You know it better, you love it more, than I ever will. You have more right than I to sit at this table and decide its fate."

"But you are a man—"

"And you are a fiercely strong woman who is more than capable of handling all of this on your own. I only offer my counsel as your humble servant. I am yours to command."

"And I yours, my lord."

Tyrion laughed. "Ah, exactly what a well-bred lady is trained to say."

Sansa flushed with embarrassment, but she still persisted. "It is true."

"It damn well better not be true. I admire your strength and your independent spirit. Don't ever compromise either, especially not for me."

"I cannot run Winterfell forever. What will happen when I have children?"

"You will sit in that very chair and nurse them at your breast as you listen to the pleadings of your northern brethren."

Sansa's cheeks blushed an even darker shade of red, and she turned away from her husband, desperate to regain some of her composure. "I assure you, I could do no such thing."

"Well," Tyrion said, putting down the letter he had been reading and reaching for another, "it's a moot point anyway. You've already decided that we won't be having any children."

"When did I decide that?" she asked, her gaze snapping back to him.

Tyrion lowered the letter to his lap and looked at her. "Sansa, you do know how children are made, don't you? You do know that they are not brought by a stork, despite what your septa may have told you?"

"Of course. I'm not a child."

Tyrion looked her up and down. "No. No, you're not, are you?"

"I know how children are made."

"Then you know that there is no chance of us having any."

Sansa straightened her spine, trying to retain some control over the situation. "That's not true. I might already be with child."

"You might. And you might not. If you are not, then both the Stark and Lannister lines will likely die with us."

"If I am not, we shall try again."

Tyrion pushed himself up in his chair as if he was suddenly uncomfortable. "Well, let's hope that you are. For both our sakes."

Sansa couldn't help but feel hurt by his words. Their coupling had been an ordeal for her, but she had thought she'd given Tyrion exactly what a man needed. Had he really been that dissatisfied with the experience? "Was bedding me that much of a trial for you, my lord?" Sansa couldn't keep the bitterness from her tone.

Tyrion's eyes registered shock, and he stared at Sansa for a moment before replying. "It was . . . not ideal."

"But you were satisfied? You did . . .?" She couldn't finish the thought. There were some things that a lady was never supposed to talk about, even with her husband.

"Did what?"

Sansa's blush deepened as she forced the words out. "Fulfilled your duty . . . to completion."

It took Tyrion a moment, but eventually, he figured out what it was that she was asking. "Ah, well, yes," he said, tearing his gaze from hers and squirming in his chair again. "Yes, I did."

"Then why do you wish never to do it again?"

"Because," he said, busying himself with tidying up the papers on the table, "you received no pleasure from it."

"Does that matter?"

"It matters a great deal to me. I have a reputation to uphold." He laughed, but the sound was strained.

"But I will never receive pleasure from such a thing. It isn't possible."

"It's more than possible. It will just take a lot of time, trust, and patience."

Sansa shook her head. "No. I have no interest in taking pleasure from such a vile act. And I hope that you don't really expect me to."

Tyrion stopped his fidgeting. He turned in his chair and gave Sansa his full attention. "My dear wife," he said softly, "I know that you have been through a great deal in your young life and that much of the joy of it has been stolen from you. But there is a reason why men go to brothels and women have bastard children. It's because there is a base, physical need in all of us to—" he stopped as if searching for the right words. "To be joined intimately with another person. The gods have made it pleasurable by design so that we will do it as often as possible and produce scores and scores of children to worship them."

"It may be pleasurable for men—"

"Women too."

"I don't believe that."

"Well then, someday, I'm going to have to prove it to you."

A spike of apprehension pierced Sansa's heart. Tyrion had assured her that he would not force her to do anything she didn't want to do. And yet, now, he was threatening to take her to his bed and teach her a lesson she didn't want to learn. "I would prefer that you didn't. I would prefer that you stay true to your word and keep your distance."

Tyrion held up his hands as if to show that he meant her no harm. "Of course. I would never force you to do anything you didn't want to do."

"That isn't how it sounded."

"Yes, well, what I meant was, if you ever come to me again, I would like the opportunity to make the experience pleasurable for you. If possible."

"It is impossible."

"Yes, I know, but will you at least let me try?"

There was such earnestness in his eyes that Sansa didn't know how to respond. She knew that the chances of her being with child were very slim and that, someday, she would have to invite him into her bed again. Could she stand his attempts at seduction? Would it be a torment for her? Sansa feared it would be. What they had already shared had been an ordeal and Tyrion had barely touched her. How would she feel if he attempted to put his hands on her, to kiss her? She didn't think she could bear it.

And yet, he hadn't asked her for very much. In fact, he hadn't asked her for anything. He had turned down her offer to let him exorcise his baser desires at the local brothel. Thus far, he had proven himself a trustworthy husband. Could she deny him the only thing he had ever asked of her?

Sansa knew she had a duty to foster goodwill between herself and her husband, and that involved compromise. She had to give something on her side. She couldn't just continue to take. Finally, she found the words to reply. "The next time you come to me, my lord, you may do with me what you will."

Tyrion shook his head. "Sansa, I—"

She pushed her chair away from the table and stood. The conversation had gotten far too uncomfortable for her liking. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have some other business to attend to this morning."

"Of course."

Sansa left the Great Hall as quickly and gracefully as she could. The next time Tyrion came to her, he would have full reign of her body, and she shuddered to imagine just what he might do to her. But it was only fair. Tyrion had sacrificed much for her, and the least she could do was grant this one request. She only had to let him try once. And maybe, when he failed, he'd see that there was no point in trying a second time.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Tyrion slumped back in his chair as he watched Sansa disappear from the room. He'd been such a fool. They'd finally been having a real conversation about matters that didn't involve her bedchamber and he had gone and ruined it. He knew he shouldn't have pressed her, but he'd found himself unable to stop, the words pouring from his throat despite his better judgment. He and Sansa had only been married for a few days. It was far too soon for him to be making demands on her, especially of a carnal nature. He wished he had just kept his mouth shut for a change.

Tyrion sighed heavily and went back to work, drowning himself in the problems plaguing the North. He knew that nearly every inch of Westeros had been affected by the wars, but the North seemed to have gotten the worst of it. When the White Walkers had breached the Wall, they'd cut a swath of death and destruction through the northern territories on their way south. Many had died, and those who were left had suffered great losses. It would take time to rebuild, but Tyrion was determined to do what he could for every last man, woman, and child under his protection.

Of course, he wished to do the same for Casterly Rock, but he could only govern one province at a time. He would visit his ancestral home in the spring when his life with Sansa was more settled. At least, he hoped it would be more settled. He didn't think he could bear the tension between them for much longer without going mad.

* * *

For the next two days, Sansa was coolly polite to Tyrion every time their paths crossed. He had wanted to discuss his thoughts about rebuilding the North with her, but she had made herself scarce, only gracing him with her presence at the evening meal, and that was hardly the time to discuss important political matters. Tyrion had a lot of exciting ideas bubbling around in his brain, and he wanted to share them with her, but he couldn't if she continued to make herself unavailable. He understood, of course, why she was avoiding him, but he was going to have to put a stop to it if they were ever going to make any progress, both as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell and as husband and wife.

After reading the morning's correspondence, Tyrion set out in search of his wife. With a little help from her handmaiden, he found her in the godswood, sitting beneath the heart tree, its canopy of red leaves shielding her from the lightly falling snow.

At first, she didn't hear his approach, and Tyrion was able to stop for a moment and observe her. She was kneeling before the tree, her body wrapped in a long grey cloak trimmed in white fur. The large hood lay about her shoulders, exposing her glorious red hair, intricately braided down her back. The bloodred leaves and her vibrant hair stood in stark contrast to the snow-covered landscape around them, and Tyrion was certain he had never seen a prettier picture.

The breath caught in Tyrion's throat, and for a moment, he could do nothing but stand there and watch her. She was so beautiful, he could have watched her forever.

But there was work to be done and neither one of them had the luxury of idling about all day. Tyrion gave her another moment of peace before taking a step forward, his boots crunching the freshly fallen snow.

Sansa turned to see who was approaching. Her entire body stiffened the instant she caught sight of him. She moved to rise, but he held out his hand, indicating for her to remain as she was. "Please," he said, "stay."

Sansa settled back on her knees, her eyes never leaving Tyrion.

He walked toward her, finally stopping a few feet away. He lowered himself to the snow-covered ground, crossing his legs in front of him. He was thankful that the cloak he wore was insulated against the cold.

Sansa scowled. "I thought you were not one for prayer, my lord."

"I'm not here to pray. I'm here to talk."

"The godswood is a place of prayer. If you wish to talk, you may do so in the Great Hall."

"And how can I when you never join me there?"

Sansa looked away then, staring up at the weirwood so that she didn't have to look at him. "What is it that you want, my lord?"

"Two days ago, we agreed that we would rule Winterfell together. But you seem to have forgotten that."

"I didn't forget."

"Then why have you been avoiding me? As if I didn't already know."

Sansa's cheeks were already pink from the chilly air, but they darkened just a bit in response to his words. "I have nothing to say to you, my lord."

Tyrion sighed. "Sansa, we cannot go on like this. You need to trust me, and we need to communicate if we're to do our duty to Winterfell."

Sansa finally looked at him again, but she didn't speak.

Tyrion squirmed under her gaze. "Can we please forget what was said the other day? It seems to have caused a rift between us, and I would rather that we move forward instead of backwards."

"You made a reasonable request. And I have every intention of honoring it."

"Even if the prospect frightens you so much that you may never speak to me again?"

Sansa's eyes drifted to her lap, her resolve wavering. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make things worse between us."

"You haven't. No harm done."

After a moment, Sansa looked up at him again. "I must be stronger moving forward."

"Yes, well, I suppose that is what it takes to be married to me," he said with a wry smile. "You'll do just fine. But," he continued, "I would prefer if we could just forget what was said the other day and start over."

Sansa shook her head. "No, I meant what I said."

"Well, then, can we at least agree to put it from our minds until we are certain that it is an inevitability?"

It took her a moment to reply, but finally, she said, "I believe I can do that."

"Good. Then let's hold out hope that you are already with child and this nasty deed does not have to be done. Now," Tyrion said, rising to leave, "I will let you get back to your prayers."

"I wasn't praying," she said.

"Are you still so jaded by the torments you've suffered that you've forsaken your gods?"

"No. But I've been here for hours. My prayers have already been said. I was just enjoying the solitude."

"Ah, yes," he said, remembering something from a moment in time long since passed, "I forgot. You go to the godswood because it's the only place where people don't talk to you. And here I am, the most loquacious man in Westeros, disturbing your peace. My apologies, my lady."

"You need not go. Since you are already here and there's no one to disturb us, you might as well sit for a while. We can talk about the work that needs to be done to recover from the war."

Tyrion was surprised that she was suddenly willing to talk to him. Perhaps she was capable of putting the more unpleasant aspects of their marriage from her mind and focusing on more important matters.

Without further prompting, Tyrion sat down again, leaving a comfortable distance between them. Sansa shifted so that she was leaning on her left hip, her legs bent to her side. She looked slightly less like a penitent that way, and it was much more comfortable for the both of them.

They talked at great length of the problems facing the North and how to combat them. There was a great deal to discuss, and the conversation lasted much longer than Tyrion had expected. More than an hour had passed by the time they reached a consensus.

"It is decided, then," Sansa said, "once we are certain that we have enough food for the remainder of the winter, then we shall shift our resources to rebuilding."

"I think that is a wise decision, my lady. Of course, we can still make small structural improvements as needed. I have made a list of what I think is most imperative, and I shall share that with you the next time we meet in the Great Hall."

Sansa nodded. "Very well. We will meet with our bannermen on the morrow and officially declare our plans for rebuilding the North."

"As you wish, my lady."

Sansa sighed, her shoulders relaxing just a bit. "I think this was quite productive, don't you?"

A half smile pulled at Tyrion's lips. "I am inclined to agree. Though," he said, pulling his cloak more tightly around him to ward off the cold, "I think next time it would be better if we met indoors."

Sansa smiled at his obvious weakness. Even though it was only in response to his own personal shortcoming – his inability to withstand the bitter cold like a true northerner – he was still glad to see her smile.

"I think you need to improve your tolerance of the cold, my lord. After all, you can't be Lord of Winterfell and be afraid of the snow."

"I'm not afraid of the snow. I just don't like sitting in it for hours freezing my backside off," he said, leaning to one side and absently rubbing the offended area. His ass was nearly numb from the cold.

"It hasn't been hours. I have been here for hours, and I am perfectly fine."

"That's because you were born in the snow. I am from a more temperate climate where it doesn't snow every single day of the damn winter."

Sansa laughed. It was a small sound, but it was the most welcome one Tyrion had ever heard.

"Well, then, I'm going to have to teach you how to tolerate it."

Tyrion eyed her warily. "And what does that mean, Lady Sansa?"

Her smile widened, and a moment later, she pelted him in the face with a fistful of snow.

Tyrion was completely caught off guard. He fell back against the ground, his skin stinging from the icy crystals still clinging to it. For a moment, he just lay there stunned. Sansa Stark had thrown a snowball at him. Like a child. Well, she wasn't the only one who knew how to win a snowball fight.

Tyrion dug his fingers into the soft, wet snow, scooping up two handfuls but keeping them hidden by his sides. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, intent on throwing snow at her, but she pelted him again the second he was upright.

"Lady Sansa!"

She laughed and then looked at him coyly, no penitence in her self-satisfied grin. "Yes, Tyrion?"

"That is no way to treat your lord husband."

"Isn't it? I'm just trying to help you become accustomed to the cold. You must improve your stamina if you are to retain the respect of our bannermen."

She had a point, and it absolutely thrilled him to see that she was using some of her cunning to be playful for a change. Still, she had hit him with two snowballs, and he did owe her something in return.

"And what of you, Lady Sansa?"

"Me?" she laughed. "I've been out here all morning, and I feel perfectly fine."

"Are you sure? Are you certain that all that time you spent in King's Landing hasn't made you soft?"

"I can assure you, I am every bit the northern girl I was when I left."

"You say that now, but perhaps we should err on the side of caution and fortify your resistance to the cold just the same." Then, without further warning, he threw two fistfuls of snow in her direction, one after the other.

Sansa squealed as she tried to dodge his attack. She managed to avoid one, but the other hit her squarely in the chest. She stared at him with her mouth agape as if she was stunned by what he had done.

Tyrion felt the urge to apologize. After all, she was his lady wife, and he should never hit her, not even in jest. He opened his mouth to ask for forgiveness but never got the chance. Sansa hit him again, this time with a snowball so big that, when it made contact, half of it fell down the collar of his tunic. He was literally freezing from the inside out now, but the sensation barely registered.

"I suppose," he said slowly as he gathered up more snow, rolling it into a ball between his hands, "that you are looking for a war, my dear wife." He threw the freshly formed snowball at her. This time, it hit the top of her head, raining a flurry of sparkles into her vibrant hair.

She shook the snow off as best she could, then settled icy blue eyes on him. "And I never lose a war, my dear husband."

Tyrion had expected another snowball, but Sansa surprised him. She sprang forward on her knees, moving closer to him. She grabbed his cloak, pulling him toward her, and then shoved a handful of cold, wet snow down the back of his tunic.

"Bloody hell!" Tyrion swore. He immediately reached up behind his neck in a futile attempt to rid himself of the cold liquid already melting down his back.

Sansa sat on her heels and laughed. "I thought you were immune to the cold, my lord. Any northern man could swim in water that cold without so much as flinching. And yet you cannot withstand even a tiny trickle of water."

Tyrion glared at her with hard eyes, though his indignation was mostly an act. She was so beautiful when she was happy, and it was such a rare occurrence that he just wanted to enjoy it for as long as possible. He would let her abuse him in any way she saw fit as long as she continued to smile while doing it.

Tyrion gathered up more snow, idly crafting it into a perfect sphere. "You say northern men can stand that kind of intense cold, yes?"

"Of course, my lord."

"But what about northern women?"

She inched her chin higher. "We are even sturdier than northern men."

"Good, then this won't hurt you one bit." Tyrion lurched forward, catching Sansa by surprise. He grabbed her cloak with one hand and used the other to stuff the snowball down the back of her dress.

She screamed and quickly pulled away, reaching up behind her to rid herself of the offending object, just as he had done.

Tyrion plopped down onto the snow and started laughing. "I suppose your time in King's Landing has made you soft."

Sansa took a huge clump of snow from the back of her dress and lobbed it a Tyrion, hitting him in the chest. He didn't even flinch.

"Have I won the war, my lady?"

"Most certainly not," she said, with mock severity. "I screamed because you attacked me, not because of the snow. I'm perfectly fine."

"Of course, you are."

Tyrion stared at her across the quiet stillness as they both stopped to catch their breath. He was stunned by how impossibly beautiful she was. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes were sparkling, and for the first time in a long time, she looked almost happy. Tyrion was entranced by her. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and his heart ached just to look at her.

Tyrion knew that if he stayed there any longer, he would do or say something to ruin the moment. And so, he pushed himself up off the ground and stepped forward, standing just in front of Sansa. Her face was flushed, her hair sparkling with snowflakes. She looked up at him, and he reached out to brush some of the snow from her hair.

She didn't flinch, and Tyrion was relieved. He trailed the back of his fingers down her cheek, wiping away a few errant snowflakes. He stared into her eyes, wishing for so much more than she was willing to give him. This morning's interlude had been a gift, and he would not take it for granted. "I believe you will always win the war, Sansa. Every time."

He dropped his hand then and turned away. He knew his desire for her was apparent in his eyes, and he didn't want to frighten her. It was best not to spoil the beauty and sanctity of the moment. She was finally starting to trust him, and he would not do anything to jeopardize that. Never again.

Tyrion walked away without another word, leaving Sansa sitting in the snow, staring after him.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Sansa sat in the snow staring after Tyrion long after he had disappeared from view. Her cheek was still warm where he had touched her, and she couldn't bring herself to move.

Something had happened between them there in the godswood, something she had never expected. For the first time in ages, they had been comfortable with each other. They had talked and laughed and played together, and Sansa was stunned by it. She had never expected to find joy in Tyrion's presence, never expected to spend a single moment with him in which her mind wasn't clouded by fear. And yet, she had done just that. And when, after their little game had ended, he had come to her and brushed the snow from her cheek, she hadn't wanted to pull away. The gesture had seemed so kind and so sweet.

Sansa finally pushed herself up from the snow, her legs aching from sitting far too long. She walked slowly back to the keep, still startled by what had just passed. She realized then that she liked Tyrion. She always had, of course, but she had never really admitted it to herself before. He was good company, kind and clever. He had a sense of humor about himself and could make her laugh. He made a good companion. If they hadn't been dutybound to produce an heir, Sansa was certain they might have had a nice little life together. But then, they did need to produce an heir, and that prospect cast a pall over every other aspect of their relationship.

Of course, Tyrion had asked Sansa to put such things from her mind until they became inevitable. And she would endeavor to do just that. It was the only way to preserve the goodwill between them. She would not think about inviting him to her bed again until it was a proven necessity.

* * *

That night when Sansa joined Tyrion in the solar for the evening meal, it was with a light heart. She was looking forward to spending time with him. After all, they wouldn't be alone. Arya always joined them for meals, and she and Tyrion did most of the talking.

When Sansa arrived, she was momentarily dismayed to find Tyrion sitting alone at the head of the table. Ever the gentleman, he moved to rise when she entered the room, but she held out her hand, stopping him. "Please, don't."

Tyrion settled himself back in his chair, and Sansa sat next to him at the table.

"I see you have quite recovered from this morning," he said. "There isn't a snowflake on you."

"And I see that you have recovered as well, my lord. I'm surprised your nose isn't red with cold."

"I told you, I'm a lot heartier than that."

Sansa looked across the table where a place was normally set for Arya. But there was no plate and cup for her tonight. "Won't Arya be joining us?" Sansa asked with some alarm.

"Your sister has sent her regrets. Apparently, she has more important things to do than spend her time supping with old married people."

Despite Sansa's insecurities about being alone with Tyrion, she couldn't suppress the small smile creeping across her lips. "I am not old, my lord."

"Well, I am. And, apparently, my new sister thinks I'm quite boring."

"You are not old either. And no one could ever accuse you of being boring."

He pushed himself up in his chair so that he could begin filling his plate. "I'm older than you. And world-weary. Which is why I have decided to retire to a quiet life in the country."

"Then you've come to the wrong place."

"And don't I know it?" he said with a smirk.

"Clever men are never boring," Sansa said as she filled her own plate. "Dangerous, perhaps. But never boring."

"You think me dangerous?" he asked, his mouth quirking in a wry smile.

"I think you clever and cunning and quite dangerous to anyone who might cross you."

He picked up his glass and raised it in toast to her. "Married less than a fortnight and already you know me so well." Tyrion sipped from the glass, then returned it to the table, his eyes never leaving her.

Sansa broke his gaze, discomfited by his stare. "Besides, that scar has always made you look dangerous."

"Some women like that."

Sansa laughed.

"Why is that funny, my lady?"

Sansa couldn't help but grin as she replied, "Margaery Tyrell thought you were rather good-looking, particularly because of the scar."

Sansa hazarded a glance at Tyrion. He was smiling.

"Did she now?"

"She did. But then there's no accounting for taste."

Tyrion grasped at his heart. "You wound me, Lady Sansa!"

Sansa's grin widened. "I make no apologies, my lord. I prefer taller, prettier men."

"And I prefer less obstinate women."

Their eyes locked for a moment, and then, they both laughed.

Sansa sighed and turned back to her food. She suddenly felt more relaxed. It was so easy to joke with Tyrion. He didn't take anything she said seriously. He withstood her teasing with grace, and she admired his easygoing nature.

"So," Tyrion said as he began to eat, "did you and Margaery Tyrell often talk about me?"

"No, not often."

"But you did talk about me?" He moved to the edge of his seat as if eager to know more.

"Yes. I was rather dismayed when I was told that you were going to be my husband. Margaery did her best to help me accept my fate."

"Like a heretic to the stake." He shook his head. "How could you not be dismayed at the prospect of marrying all this?" He held out his hands and glanced down at himself.

"Stop," Sansa replied. "Stop belittling yourself all the time."

"Why? I am little."

Sansa's good mood was souring. "You're anything but. You've got big ideas, a big heart, and an even bigger mouth. There's nothing little about you." In that moment, Sansa's mind flashed to the night he had visited her in her bed. There was something else about him that wasn't little either, but she would never allow herself to say it. Instead, she said, "When we were in King's Landing, I was young and I was frightened. I didn't know any better. But I do now. Which is why I chose you for my husband."

"Maybe Lady Margaery's words are still influencing you."

"She liked you, Tyrion. And I liked her. I had a great deal of respect for her, even though, at the time, I didn't know how shrewd she truly was. She thought you handsome and a good match. I agree with her on one of those points." Sansa picked up her glass and took a sip of wine, smiling the whole time. The truth was, she didn't think Tyrion was ugly. He just wasn't the gallant knight she was normally attracted to. But she could see what Margaery saw in him, now that she was older and wiser. There was a ruggedness about him that was captivating, and the scar did make him look dangerous. If she had been attracted to dangerous looking men, she might have been attracted to him, but she still preferred pretty men like Loras. Not that she truly cared about such things anymore.

"First, you tell me not to belittle myself," Tyrion said, "and then you tell me I'm not good-looking. So, you, my lady, may belittle me, but I may not belittle myself?"

"Margaery Tyrell thought you handsome, which means you must be handsome since she was a very good judge of men."

"But you don't agree with her assessment of me?"

Sansa weighed her words carefully as she examined her husband's face. He looked at her expectantly as if her reply might truly wound him. It was then that Sansa realized how much her good opinion meant to Tyrion. She couldn't be glib with him anymore. She was done teasing. She didn't wish to cause him any distress. "I see why Margaery was attracted to you, and I cannot fault her judgment."

Tyrion nodded and sat back in his chair.

Sansa hoped he was satisfied with her answer. "I am sorry, my lord, if I hurt your feelings in any way. I was just teasing. I will not do so again."

"Don't you dare stop."

Sansa opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, but he cut her off.

"I want you to tease me. I want you to yell at me, to laugh at me, to confide in me. I want you as you are, Sansa Stark, not as the world expects you to be. I want . . . I want to be your friend, as sad and pathetic as that sounds."

"It doesn't sound sad and pathetic at all."

"Doesn't it?"

"My mother and father were the best of friends. It's how they kept going even when all the world seemed to be against them."

"Good. Then you understand what it is that I want."

"I want that too, Tyrion."

"Do you?"

Sansa nodded. "I do."

Tyrion smiled at her softly. "Then I think, my dear wife, that we shall have a happy marriage. Don't you?"

"I hope so very much."

His smile broadened, and Sansa couldn't help but smile back. Tyrion hadn't asked a great deal of her, and what he was asking for at that moment, she was more than happy to give. Even if they never shared a love like her parents had, at least they could share a friendship, and that was more than she had hoped for when she'd first asked him to be her husband.

Sansa and Tyrion stayed at the table long after the last plate had been cleared, talking and laughing and making plans for the future. It was the happiest evening Sansa had spent in a very long time.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

For the next fortnight, life was quite pleasant at Winterfell. Tyrion and Sansa worked together executing their plans for restoring the North to its former glory. During the day, they worked. At night, they dined together, enjoying each other's company, sometimes with Arya and sometimes alone. It was a glorious reprieve from their harsh reality. But it didn't last long.

Ever since they had declared their truce, they had spent every morning together in the Great Hall, breaking their fast. But one morning, Sansa didn't join him, and Tyrion instantly knew something was wrong.

"Have you seen Lady Sansa?" he asked the maidservant who had come to replenish his cup.

"She is not feeling well this morning, my lord. She is still in her chamber."

Tyrion didn't wait for any further explanation. He pushed away from the table hastily, his chair scraping against the stone floor. He left the Great Hall and rushed to Sansa's room.

He stood there for a moment, outside her closed door, all sorts of dreadful notions spinning around in his head. Was she terribly ill? If she was, would she even want to see him? Although they had grown closer of late, there was still a distance between them that neither one of them had been able to bridge. They were close, but no more than amiable companions. If Sansa truly was in distress, why had she not sent for him on her own?

Tyrion decided to stop playing guessing games with himself and knocked on the door. It took a moment, but Sansa finally bid him enter.

Tyrion opened the door quietly, afraid to aggravate her affliction, whatever it might be. He closed the door just as softly, then turned and scanned the room for his wife.

She was sitting by the window, looking down at her hands. She looked inconsolable.

Tyrion quickly crossed the floor. He stopped a mere foot in front of her, wanting to give her space but needing to be close. "Sansa, what's wrong?"

She shook her head.

"Sansa, please. I must know. If I am to do anything to help, I must know."

"There's nothing you can do to help, my lord."

"Surely there is something. What is wrong? Are you ill? What are your symptoms?"

"I am not ill."

"Then what is it?"

She looked up at him then, her eyes cold and distant. "My red flower is blooming."

It took Tyrion a moment to understand what she meant. After all, she was a proper young lady, and proper young ladies always used euphemisms for such unpleasant things. When he realized that she was having her blood, he said, "Does it not always bloom once a moonturn?"

Sansa pushed herself up from the chair, forcing Tyrion to stumble back. She paced the floor in agitation. "You know what this means, don't you?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

She stopped and glared at him.

Tyrion didn't understand why she was so upset. After all, having her moonblood was just a normal part of life for a woman. "Sansa," he reached out to her, but she recoiled, wrapping her arms around herself protectively.

"Don't. This means . . ." the breath caught in her throat and she sounded as if she was on the brink of tears, but she quickly recovered. "This means I am not with child and we must . . ." She couldn't finish, but it didn't matter. Tyrion understood all too well now why she was in such distress. She would have to lie with him again, and the idea made her sick with fear.

"Sansa—"

"Please, Tyrion. There's nothing you can say that will make this any better."

"At least let me try."

Sansa looked at him but did not reply, so he assumed it was safe to continue.

"You are young, Sansa. Very young. You will be able to bear children for many years to come. Our marriage has already been consummated. There's no reason to rush into anything further. It can wait. Forever if it has to."

She shook her head. "No, it can't. And I'd rather have it done sooner than later. I do not wish to live the rest of my life with this dread hanging over me. I want it done. I want to be with child."

Tyrion suppressed a cynical laugh. "You cannot command yourself to be with child. It doesn't work that way. You and I could share that bed dozens of times and my seed might never take root."

She tore her eyes from his, obviously embarrassed by his words.

Tyrion went on, "Is this what we are to do every moonturn? Lie together once and then wait for your blood to see if it has worked? That would be a life of torture, for both of us."

"There must be ways to improve our chances of conceiving a child," she said, finally looking at him again.

"I'm certain there are. And I'm sure you can find some well-meaning septa to give you such advice. But it will be no guarantee."

"I know that."

Tyrion sighed. He decided to try a different tact. "Sansa, I know this is important to you. I know you want your duty to be done and over with. You want to be free of your obligation to our marriage bed. I understand that. But you are free of it. I will make no demands on you, ever."

"Winterfell needs an heir. And it is my duty to give it one."

"And what of our friendship?"

"What about it?'

"For more than a fortnight, we've been the best of friends. And it has been wonderful. All because we didn't have this," he motioned toward the bed beside them, "standing between us. Sansa, can't we just leave things as they are? Please? We are both happy. Why should we choose to make ourselves unhappy when we can remain as we are?"

She looked at the bed, doubt clouding her expression. "If we lie together now, the worst will soon be behind us. Then, we can spend the rest of our lives living in amiable companionship." She looked back at Tyrion. "But not until the deed is done. Not until I am with child."

"Sansa, please."

She shook her head. "No, I have made up my mind. I hope that you will not refuse to fulfill your obligation."

Tyrion sighed, his mouth twisting in distaste. The prospect of bedding Sansa again physically pained him. He had hoped that they would wait for some time to come. But Sansa was determined, and he knew he couldn't fight her. "You know that I will always do what is required of me as Lord of Winterfell. If this is your choice—"

"It is."

"Then what choice do I have?"

Sansa looked away, and Tyrion wondered if she regretted what she was doing to him. He suspected that she did.

"If I have no choice in _what_ we are to do," Tyrion said, "then I would at least like some say in _how_ we are to do it."

Sansa stiffened. She didn't look at him as she said, "You mean, what we talked about that day in the Great Hall?"

"I do. I am willing to compromise by giving you what you want. All I ask is that you do the same."

Sansa looked like she wanted to bolt from the room. Tyrion knew he was asking a lot of her, but if they were going to have to play out this little scenario every moonturn until she was with child, they were going to have to find a much more agreeable way of doing it. He wanted a chance to make the act bearable for her. He knew he was pushing her into an uncomfortable situation, but he hoped that if he was kind enough and gentle enough, she would learn not to fear his touch.

It took her a moment, but Sansa finally nodded.

"Very well, then," Tyrion replied, the sound hollow in his throat.

Sansa looked at him again. There was a pain in her eyes that he hadn't seen in quite some time. "When will you come to me, my lord?"

It hurt him to hear her call him by his title instead of his name. Tyrion felt as if all the progress they had made had suddenly disappeared. They were back to being strangers in a single instant, a smattering of blood destroying their peace.

"I think it would be best if you were to seek the counsel of the other ladies here at Winterfell. I'm certain they can advise you of the best time."

She nodded but didn't speak. Words seemed to fail her.

"Sansa, there is one more thing I must say before I go. You and I have gotten on quite well recently. And although we have a duty to fulfill, surely we can do so without losing what we've already built between us."

"I don't think I will feel much like talking or laughing until this is done, my lord."

"Tyrion, Sansa. Please, call me Tyrion. It's the least you can do to show me that you don't think us enemies."

Sansa cast her eyes to the floor. She seemed to be warring with herself. When she finally met his gaze again, she said, "I am sorry, Tyrion. I didn't mean to make you feel as if I don't trust you or don't want to be near you. But I am not prepared for what I must do, and I fear, until it is done, I will think of nothing else. It will color all that I do. I am sorry. I don't want it to be this way, but . . . I don't seem to have any control over it."

"After everything you have been through, I am not surprised."

She wrapped her arms around herself again. She looked like she wanted to cry. "Still, you deserve better. I wish I could give you what you deserve."

Tyrion's mouth quirked into a sardonic smile. "To be honest, I don't even deserve this."

"Of course, you do. You're a good man, Tyrion Lannister. Don't ever let anyone tell you differently. Especially yourself."

As tempted as he was to argue with her, he couldn't. Her pronouncement had stunned him into silence. It had been so genuine, so heartfelt. She truly believed him to be a good man, and in that moment, he wished that he was one. The truth, of course, was much different. How could a man who had murdered his own father, and the woman he was supposed to have loved, ever be considered good? Tyrion would spend the rest of his life making up for those sins, but he knew they were debts he could never repay.

"Well," Tyrion said when he finally found his voice again, "it is good to know that my wife has such a high opinion of me."

"Of course, I do. It's why I married you."

"Yes, I suppose it is."

They were both silent then, and Sansa looked away awkwardly, the room suddenly becoming uncomfortable. Tyrion wanted the conversation to end, but he didn't want to leave her until she was ready for him to go.

"How will I know when to come to you?" he asked, for lack of something better to say.

"I will tell you once I have decided."

"And until then? Will we still keep company?"

"I will not be very good company, my . . . Tyrion."

"That's all right. I'm not always very good company myself."

"Especially when you've been in your cups."

Tyrion laughed to himself. She was scared, but she wasn't so scared that she couldn't complain about his drinking. He had not been drunk once since they had called their truce. He hoped that, even with what was looming before them now, he wouldn't have reason to get drunk again any time soon.

"You know," he said, "some people like me when I'm drunk. They say it makes me particularly funny. A drunken dwarf. What could be more entertaining than that?"

Sansa skewered him with her eyes. "You're a morose drunk, not a fun one."

"I am too fun! Just ask all the whores who—" Tyrion clamped his mouth shut. "I'm sorry, my lady."

"Don't be. It's not as if I'm ignorant of your reputation."

"Well, then maybe you will enjoy our time together. The whores say I am mighty good at pleasing them."

"Yes, but you pay them to say that."

"True, I'm no Podrick Payne. But I know how to get the job done."

Sansa blushed, and Tyrion knew it was time to end their little talk. "I think I shall return to the hall and finish the morning meal. Would you care to join me, Sansa?"

She looked at him for a moment, in silent contemplation. He was certain that she was going to refuse, but she didn't. "Yes, Tyrion, I will."

Tyrion smiled, unable to stop himself. "Well then, shall we, my lady?" he held out his arm, gesturing toward the door.

"I would like a moment alone to collect myself if that is all right with you."

"Of course." Tyrion nodded courteously and retreated to the other side of the room. "I will see you anon," he said as he left Sansa, closing the door behind him.

Tyrion lingered outside her chamber. He felt as if he had won a small battle. Sansa was scared, but she had not completely closed herself off to him. She was making an effort to preserve the goodwill they had so recently built between them. Tyrion was grateful. Sansa had not abandoned their friendship, and somehow, they would make it through the coming ordeal together.


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note: In this chapter, Sansa thinks about all the men who have kissed her. Since this story is based solely on the television series, she only includes those men who have actually kissed her on the show.

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

It was nearly a fortnight later when Sansa finally asked Tyrion to come to her. As he had instructed, she had sought advice from her maidservant, who in turn had queried the other ladies of the keep. Sansa had been advised that this was the optimal time for conception, and despite the anxious fluttering in her belly, she was determined not to waste it.

Sansa sat on her bed, dressed only in her nightshift, waiting for Tyrion. The room was dimly lit, the only light the fire glowing softly in the hearth. She hoped that once Tyrion came to her, she could lose herself in the darkness.

Sansa and Tyrion's relationship had been cordial since the morning she'd first gotten her moonblood, but there'd been an underlying tension between them. She knew, of course, that it was her fault, but she'd been unable to do anything about it. She dreaded what lay before her, and she was determined to be done with it.

If the ordeal she was about to face were to be exactly as it had been the previous time, her fear might have been less palpable. But she knew that Tyrion would demand more from her tonight, and that was what frightened her most. Would he try to kiss her? She hoped that he wouldn't. She had only been kissed, truly kissed, by three men in her entire life, and she deeply regretted each of those experiences.

The first man to ever kiss her had been Joffrey. She had still been smitten with him then, and her heart had raced when his lips had touched hers, like the little fool she'd been. Now, the memory turned her stomach, but at the time, she had been a more than willing participant in the act.

The second man had been Littlefinger. He had kissed her twice, first in the Eyrie and then in the crypts beneath Winterfell. Both times she had felt awkward and uncomfortable, but she had assumed that Littlefinger's attentions were harmless. After all, she had actually trusted him then. Now, looking back, she hated herself for ever having put her faith in him. She should have seen the signs long before she'd allowed him to trade her to Ramsay Bolton. But she hadn't, and she would always hate herself, just a little bit, for not having realized what Littlefinger was before it was too late.

Then, after Littlefinger . . . then it had been Ramsay Bolton. He was the last man who had ever kissed her. He had kissed her on their wedding night, right before he'd pushed her down onto the bed and brutally raped her.

Sansa shivered at the thought, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to ward off the imaginary cold.

Only three men had ever kissed her, and in the end, they had all turned out to be madmen. In the end, they had all betrayed her. She had no desire to add Tyrion's name to that list. She hoped that, when he did come to her, he would not demand a kiss. Anything else she could give him, but not that.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and Sansa stiffened. She knew she had no choice but to answer. She was a strong woman. She had survived much in her short life. She knew she could survive this.

Sansa forced herself up from the bed. She turned toward the door and bid her husband enter.

The door slowly opened, and Tyrion stepped inside. He was not dressed for bed, and Sansa worried that he might have changed his mind. Perhaps he had come to tell her just that.

Tyrion closed the door behind him and then turned to look at her. Sansa's heart caught in her throat as their eyes met.

Neither one of them wanted to be there. No matter how much they trusted each other, no matter how much goodwill there was between them, this was a trial that neither one of them wanted to endure. And yet, they both knew they must persevere.

"Good evening, Sansa," Tyrion said softly, the sound hollow in the large room.

"Good evening, Tyrion."

He looked at the bed, and Sansa's heart sank, knowing that it would not be long until they were lying there together.

He studied the scene before him for a long moment, then turned his gaze back to her. "As I will do every time I come to you, I will ask you again, are you sure you want to do this?"

"I am."

"Even with the stipulation I've imposed?"

"Yes, my lord. It is only fair."

Tyrion sighed and looked away. He began to fidget where he stood, obviously agitated. "Very well, then. I suppose it is best that we do this sooner rather than later."

Sansa needed no further prompting than that. She nodded and moved to the bed, pulling back the furs and slipping beneath. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for her husband to join her.

She listened as Tyrion readied himself for the task at hand, divesting himself of his clothes and climbing the steps beside the bed.

Sansa saw him from the periphery of her vision as he knelt on the mattress next to her. He was still wearing his long linen shirt, for which she was grateful. She had no desire to see any man naked, not even her husband. She prayed that he would get under the blankets with her and that everything they did together would be shrouded from view.

A moment later, Tyrion drew back the furs and joined her beneath them. Sansa sighed in relief, her body sinking into the soft mattress. She knew she could survive this. She just had to imagine herself far away, in a place and time where no pain could touch her. She would close herself off, let Tyrion have his way with her, as she had done so many times before with Ramsay Bolton.

Sansa waited for Tyrion to touch her, but he didn't. When the wait became unbearable, she finally turned her head and looked at him. He was on his side, staring at her gravely. She knew this was torture for her, but Tyrion looked as if he was in pain as well.

"What is wrong, Tyrion?"

"You know what's wrong."

She shook her head on the pillow. "No, I don't. You were more than capable of doing this last time. There's no reason you shouldn't be able to do it again."

"You fear me more this time. Or differently, I should say. I fear, even with my renowned skills as a lover, I will not be able to draw you out of yourself."

"I don't wish to be drawn out of myself. I am quite content as I am."

"No, you're not. You're not any more content than I am."

Tyrion pushed the covers off himself then and sat up in the bed. Sansa thought he was going to leave, but he didn't.

"Is this how it's always going to be?" Tyrion asked.

"Can you think of a better way?"

"Many. Although most of them involve me walking out of here before we've even begun."

Sansa sat up abruptly, the blanket of furs falling to her lap. Her eyes locked with Tyrion's. "Most men would be more than happy to share my bed," she said boldly.

"Yes, but only those who have no aversion to bedding a corpse."

Sansa stared at him in stunned silence. She was thunderstruck. She had never expected him to say anything so cold and so cruel. It took her a moment to regain the ability to speak. When she did, she said, "How dare you?"

Tyrion broke her gaze, gently shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Sansa. I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did. Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think this is what I really want? If I had my way, I'd join the Silent Sisters, never to be touched by a man again. But I don't have my way. I have to do what's best for Winterfell. And this is what's best for Winterfell. Whether I like it or not."

Tyrion looked up at her again. "Neither one of us likes it. All the more reason why we should agree to forgo this particular marital duty."

"We can't."

"Of course, we can."

"No, we can't. It must be done tonight."

Tyrion's hands clenched into fists in his lap, and Sansa knew he was angry. But he didn't lose his temper. Instead, he sighed heavily, his eyes searching hers for one heart-stopping moment. Then, he reached out his hand, placing it gently over her own.

Sansa gasped at the unexpected contact. She thought Tyrion might pull away, but he didn't. He just continued to hold her hand, his gaze never wavering.

"Does that hurt you, my lady?" he asked softly.

"No, my lord."

"Would you like me to remove my hand?"

Sansa wasn't sure what she wanted. The truth was, the feel of Tyrion's hand against her own was not unpleasant. In fact, her skin warmed where he touched her. But still, it was an unexpected invasion. The gesture seemed much more intimate than if he had simply gotten on top of her and pushed himself inside.

It took her a moment to make up her mind. Finally, she gave him an answer, a simple, "No."

Tyrion took that as a sign to continue. Gently, he moved his thumb against the back of her hand, drawing light circles over her skin.

The sensation warmed her from the inside out. It felt nice where he touched her, and she suddenly had no desire to pull away.

When she made no further protest, Tyrion lifted her hand from her lap. He lowered his head and placed a chaste kiss against her bare flesh.

Sansa froze. Although it wasn't a kiss against her lips, it still made her feel uneasy. She feared that a real kiss would soon follow, and she knew she wasn't prepared for that.

Tyrion's eyes found hers again, his head still bent over her hand. "Does that make you uncomfortable?"

Sansa nodded. She couldn't help herself. He had asked, and she couldn't lie to him.

He lowered her hand to her lap again but didn't release it. His thumb idly traced the spot where he had kissed her. It made her whole body flush warmly.

"Sansa, I will not hurt you. I do not wish to do anything that will make you uncomfortable, and yet, I can't bear the thought of you simply lying there while I . . . I just can't."

"What is it that you want me to do?" she asked, her cheeks tinging red with embarrassment.

"I want you to trust me."

"I do trust you."

"Well then, I want you to open yourself up to the possibility that you can feel something other than disgust when I touch you."

Sansa pulled her hand away, overcome with doubt. "I can't do that."

"Why?"

"Because I . . ." She stared at him, unable to finish. She suddenly felt like crying. Sansa's gaze fell away from his. She could look anywhere at that moment except at her husband. "I don't want anyone to touch me. Do you know how many men have touched me before you?"

"Sansa, it doesn't matter."

"Do you?" she asked, her tone hard as she finally looked up at him again.

"No, I don't."

"Three. All of them were evil. All of them were madmen. And now, all of them are dead."

Tyrion shifted uncomfortably where he sat. She could see that she had unsettled him.

"I don't want anyone to ever touch me again. But I have no choice. I will never be able to erase the horrors I have endured from my mind, which is why I would like this ordeal to be over with as quickly and painlessly as possible. I am sorry, Tyrion. I know that is not what you want, and I know that is not what I promised you, but I fear I cannot survive this any other way."

"May I ask who the other men were? I mean, I know about Lord Bolton, but—"

"Joffrey and Lord Baelish."

"But you never laid with Joffrey!" Tyrion said in horror.

"Nor Littlefinger. But they did kiss me. And even that is more contact than I can ever bear to suffer again."

Tyrion sighed. "My dear Sansa. What has this world done to you?"

"You need not pity me, my lord. I am a very fortunate girl. I have everything a woman could ask for."

"Not everything."

"That is true. I still don't have a baby, but you shall endeavor to put one inside me tonight."

Tyrion's gaze hardened, and she wasn't sure if she saw anger or determination in his eyes. Finally, he said, "Lie down, Sansa."

She did as he instructed, settling against the mattress again, her head resting on her pillow. She folded her hands beneath her breasts and closed her eyes, waiting for her husband.

She felt Tyrion move beside her on the bed. Just as he had done the time before, he raised her nightdress to the tops of her thighs and settled himself between her legs. She knew this wasn't what he wanted, but she appreciated the fact that he was willing to suffer through it for her sake. And she was relieved to know that there would be no further talk of seduction. He would do his duty and be done with her.

Sansa waited for Tyrion to push himself inside her, but he didn't. Instead, he leaned down and placed a single kiss against her stomach.

Sansa's eyes flashed open, and she looked down at Tyrion. "What are you doing?"

"You don't want me to kiss your lips, because other men have kissed you there before. Is that correct?"

"Yes," she managed, her voice strained.

"And I would imagine, other men have kissed your hand before as well. Yes?"

"There is nothing untoward in it."

"Of course not. But you would prefer I didn't kiss you there either."

"What is it that you want?"

"Do you trust me, Sansa?"

"Not at this moment, no."

Tyrion laughed. "Can you try to trust me, at this moment, knowing that I only have your best interest at heart?"

Sansa pondered the question. She wasn't sure what he wanted from her. Did he intend to kiss her stomach again? It seemed a very silly thing for him to want to do. There was certainly nothing seductive about it. It had not been an unpleasant sensation, just unexpected, and she knew she could endure it again if she had to. "If you promise not to push me beyond my limits, I will trust you."

"Your limits are very . . . limiting," he said with a wry smile. "Surely, we can push past them just a little. Together."

Sansa wanted to trust him. After all, they had been married for more than a moonturn now and he had never done anything to hurt her. Whatever his intentions were, she knew they were meant to make this ordeal easier for her. She had to trust that Tyrion knew what he was doing. It was the least she could do for him.

"All right," she said, "but if I wish you to stop—"

"I will stop. You have my word."

Sansa nodded curtly, then leaned her head back again and closed her eyes. Her body was tense with anticipation as she waited for whatever it was that Tyrion intended to do to her.

Slowly, he bent his head down again and kissed her stomach through the thin fabric of her shift.

Sansa stiffened, her fingers gripping the sheets at her sides.

"Relax," Tyrion said softly, before kissing her again.

But Sansa couldn't relax. She had no idea what he was doing, and she was finding it nearly impossible to trust him, despite having just given him her word that she would.

Tyrion moved lower, placing a trail of chaste kisses across her abdomen.

Sansa's skin tingled everywhere he touched her, even though he was not making contact with bare flesh. An unfamiliar warmth began to pool between her legs, and she wondered if that had been his intention all along. Margaery Tyrell had once said that women were complicated and that pleasing them took practice. She had also said that Tyrion was quite experienced in that regard. Sansa wondered if that was what he was doing now, using his extensive experience to prepare her for the unpleasantness to come.

Tyrion soon moved lower, kissing the top of one covered thigh and then the other. When next he placed a single kiss on the mound between her thighs, Sansa nearly flew off the bed.

She sat bolt upright, causing Tyrion to fall back on his knees.

"What are you doing?" she asked with some alarm.

"I thought you said you were going to trust me."

Sansa shook her head frantically. "You can't seriously think to . . . to kiss me there."

A slow grin spread across Tyrion's lips. "Lie back, Sansa."

She shook her head again. "No, absolutely not."

"Was it unpleasant?"

"No, but . . ." She couldn't finish. She didn't know what to say. How could a man even think to do such a thing to a woman?

"Well, if it was not unpleasant, then why not let me continue?"

"Because it's obscene."

He laughed. "Not really. I am prone to all manner of perversions, remember? I know obscene, and this isn't it."

Sansa's face flamed red at just the thought of what he had done to her and what he was hoping to do. "I . . . I can't allow you to do such a thing."

"Even if it will make this nightmare bearable for you?"

Sansa weighed his words thoughtfully. No matter how much the proposition shocked her, the truth was, she was already beginning to feel queer stirrings between her legs. Tyrion knew what he had done to her, and he had done it deliberately. Surely, he had a plan for seeing her through this ordeal that she simply couldn't fathom yet.

Sansa feared what Tyrion wanted to do to her. But she also hoped that he possessed the power to take her out of herself just long enough for the deed to be done. She knew, if anyone could do it, it was the infamous Tyrion Lannister.

Without a word, Sansa lay back on the bed, her eyes never leaving her husband's. For a moment, they just stared at each other, and Sansa felt an odd kinship with Tyrion. They were both fighting for the same thing, her peace of mind. Tyrion cared for her. He would never do anything to hurt her. She had to trust him.

Sansa broke his gaze and turned her face toward the ceiling, closing her eyes again and waiting for him to resume his earlier pursuit. She would not stop him this time. She would stay still and silent until the ordeal was over.

Tyrion resettled himself between her legs, and instead of starting where he had left off, he lowered his mouth to her stomach and began the whole process all over again. This time, the rush of warmth to her sex was more urgent, as she waited in frightful expectation of what she now knew was to come.

This time, when he kissed her between her legs, she did not bolt. She lay perfectly still, all of her attention transfixed on that single point between her thighs. Tyrion kissed her there again and again, until finally, he pushed her shift higher, exposing her nakedness.

Sansa held her breath, embarrassment and anticipation heating her skin. When she thought she could bear his scrutiny no longer, he suddenly surprised her by pressing his lips against her exposed flesh.

Sansa's eyes went wide, and she stared blindly up at the ceiling, too startled to move. Tyrion continued to kiss her, slowly making his way lower with each brush of his lips.

Sansa's mouth opened in an attempt to protest, but no words came out. They were caught somewhere in her throat. Then, without warning, he dipped his tongue between her folds, and she squealed in surprise.

Tyrion smiled against her but didn't say a word. He just continued to play with her, teasing her flesh with his tongue.

Sansa wanted to die. She had never felt greater shame, and yet, she couldn't ask him to stop. She didn't want him to stop. There was a fire burning deep within her that she knew only Tyrion could satisfy. She felt poised on the brink of something wonderful, but she had no idea what that something was. All she knew was that she had to let Tyrion continue until he was good and truly finished with her. It was pure agony, but she persevered.

Tyrion alternated between kissing her and using his tongue, and Sansa's eyes drifted shut as she started to squirm beneath him. Her breath was coming in short bursts, and despite her best efforts, wayward sounds were pouring from her throat.

Finally, when he was done exploring, he settled all his efforts at the very top of her sex. Sansa didn't know why, but that one particular spot was impossibly sensitive, and Tyrion did his utmost to take advantage of that fact. He kissed her, licked her, teased her, until she could barely breathe.

Sansa writhed beneath her husband, her skin flushed, her muscles tense with anticipation, as she strived for something she couldn't even name. And then, suddenly, it happened. In an instant, a wave of unimaginable pleasure broke over her. She cried out as her eyes squeezed tightly shut, and her body shuddered unexpectedly.

Sansa lay there for the longest time, trying to regain some control over her body. When she finally opened her eyes again, she stared blankly above her, too stunned to move. She was breathing hard, and her limbs felt heavy. She had never felt more exhausted in her life. Or more fulfilled.

Finally, she managed to gaze down at Tyrion. He was looking at her with a grave expression, and Sansa feared something had gone terribly wrong.

"What was that?" she managed to ask, even though her throat was uncomfortably dry.

"The height of carnal pleasure."

Sansa just stared at Tyrion. She couldn't quite believe him. Yes, she had felt intense pleasure, but surely, as a woman, she should have been incapable of such a thing. After all, weren't men the only ones who received pleasure from such acts?

"Are you all right?" Tyrion asked, his brow furrowing with concern.

Sansa nodded, unable to utter a single word.

"Would you like me to continue, or would you rather that I stop for a while?"

It took Sansa a moment to realize what he was asking. Tyrion had befuddled her so much that she'd completely forgotten what it was that they were there to do. Sansa knew they had to push forward. Their duty had not yet been fulfilled. And so, she forced the words from her lips, "Continue, please. We must see this through."

Tyrion nodded. Then, he leaned forward and placed a single kiss against her nest of curls.

Sansa thought he was going to make love to her with his mouth again, but he didn't. Instead, he shifted on the bed, poising himself above her. Then, he slowly pushed himself inside.

His entry wasn't painful, as it had been that first time, and Sansa was surprised by just how eager her body was to take him in. She kept her gaze steady with Tyrion's as he moved above her, thrusting rhythmically as he strived for his own release.

Sansa could feel the tension building inside her once again, and she was startled to find that such a thing was even possible. She gripped the bedsheets as she instinctively moved her hips against his, her pleasure instantly intensifying.

Never in her wildest, most romantic dreams, had Sansa ever imagined feeling anything so wondrous. For the first time in her life, she understood what it was that drew lovers to each other's beds. Although she was not in love with Tyrion, she could not deny that she was bewitched by what he was doing to her. He had complete command of her body, and she was helpless to resist him.

Soon, Sansa's eyes drifted closed, and all her attention fell to the place where their bodies were joined so intimately together. She moaned wantonly as she strived to reach the peak of pleasure she had so recently fallen from.

Tyrion increased his pace, his own sounds of urgency mingling with hers. Sansa knew it wouldn't be long before he released his seed into her, and she desperately wanted to achieve the height of carnal pleasure again before he completed his task and abandoned her.

It only took a few more frenzied thrusts for Sansa to come crashing off the precipice. Rainbows of light flashed behind her eyes, and her whole body trembled with release. She lay still on the bed, her eyes closed, her limbs weak, as her mind tried to make sense of everything that had just happened.

It wasn't until Tyrion cried out her name that she realized he had finally fulfilled his duty. An instant later, he collapsed against her, his head lying on her breast.

Without conscious thought, Sansa's arms wrapped around him, one hand going to his back, the other curling into his hair. She held him there for the longest time, unable to move. She had never experienced anything so intensely pleasurable before, and she knew it would be a long time until she recovered.

It was Tyrion who finally broke away.

He gently pushed himself off her, crawling out from between her legs, and lying on his back on the mattress beside her.

The furs had been pushed to the bottom of the bed at some point during their coupling, and Sansa was now nearly completely exposed. She hurriedly pulled her shift down over her legs, affording herself some sense of dignity.

Without any prompting, Tyrion sat up and reached toward the bottom of the bed. He covered them both with the blanket and then lay back down beside her.

Sansa was touched by his thoughtfulness. But then, he was always thoughtful where she was concerned. He was a man of honor, and she was proud to call him her husband.

"Are you all right, Sansa?" Tyrion asked, without turning to look at her.

"I am."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, Tyrion. I am."

Finally, he turned on the bed, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at her. He examined her for a time, his eyes searching every inch of her face. "You are so beautiful, Sansa," he whispered, as if the words were meant for his ears alone.

In that moment, Sansa wondered what it would be like to kiss Tyrion Lannister. To really kiss him, as a woman kisses a man.

As frightened as she was of such things, she knew that she was safe with him. She knew, if she kissed him, he would not judge her for her boldness. Or ever ask her to kiss him again. And so, despite the fear gnawing at her belly, Sansa leaned forward and gently pressed her lips against Tyrion's.

His lips were warm, and they tasted, not of wine, but of her own sweetness, and Sansa was both shocked and excited by the idea. She hastily pulled away, breaking the kiss almost as quickly as it had begun. She stared up at Tyrion, his eyes soft with understanding.

"Thank you, Tyrion."

He shook his head. "No, Sansa. Thank you for trusting me." He inched forward as if he intended to kiss her again, but then pulled back. "It is late. I should leave you for the evening."

Sansa wasn't sure that she wanted him to go. She was far too overcome by her own emotions to know what she truly wanted at that moment.

When she didn't reply, Tyrion turned and slid out from beneath the furs, descending the steps to the floor. Sansa watched as he gathered up his clothes and then turned back toward the bed. "Good night, Sansa."

"Good night, Tyrion."

And then, without another word, he was gone.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Once he was alone in his own chamber, Tyrion crawled up into his bed and stared blindly out into the darkened room, his heart and his mind still with Sansa. His lips tingled where she had kissed him, and he could still feel her arms wrapped around him, holding him as intimately as if they had truly been lovers. Of all the things he and Sansa had shared that night, nothing amazed him more than the moment she had leaned forward and pressed her lips against his own. He knew that she felt she had an obligation to give him her body, but she was under no such obligation to grace him with a kiss. She had given him a great gift when she had kissed him, a gift he would always treasure.

As Tyrion stared out into the darkness, his mind inevitably wandered to the other intimacies they had shared. He was amazed by how completely Sansa had given herself to him. When he'd first proposed the idea of trying to give her some kind of pleasure, he had only intended to arouse her with a few kisses, nothing more. He'd thought she might find the feel of his lips against her skin pleasurable. He'd never imagined that she'd let him go so far, or that she'd react so strongly.

She'd come hard for him both times, moaning and crying out like a well-paid whore. Tyrion was certain that she'd been oblivious to the sounds she'd made. And if she ever realized what she'd done, she might be too embarrassed to ever let him touch her again.

A wicked grin spread across Tyrion's lips, and he didn't even try to suppress it. She was a wild one, his wife. He knew it would take time, of course, but he imagined a day when she would be just as forward in their bed as he was. She would learn to seek her own pleasure, to demand it from him. And he would gladly obey. There was nothing in the world that would make him happier.

Tyrion's cock stiffened, and he curled his hands into fists, resisting the urge to alleviate his own discomfort. He'd only just left the girl, and already he wanted her again. Normally, it took him longer to recover than that, but Sansa did something to him, moved him in a way that no other woman had before. Maybe it was her innocence. Maybe it was the fact that she was the only woman he had ever bedded who wasn't a whore. Whatever it was, he was mad for her, and he would count the seconds until he could have her again.

Of course, that might not be for another moonturn, especially if she intended to keep to her ridiculous plan of letting him bed her once and then waiting for her moonblood before letting him bed her again.

Tyrion swore under his breath as he gave into temptation and wrapped his hand around his cock. He knew it might be a long time before his wife invited him to her bed again. There was no way he was going to be able to completely abstain until then. Since he had no intention of going to a brothel, he was simply going to have to take matters into his own hands. Literally.

* * *

When Tyrion entered the Great Hall the next morning, it was with the uneasy feeling that everyone he passed was laughing at him. Or rather, laughing about him, if there was a difference. Tyrion had spent his entire life being laughed at, so it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but still, it was a new experience at Winterfell, and he was not particularly happy about it.

Sansa did not join him for the morning meal, but Tyrion was not surprised. After everything she had been through the night before, she would probably sleep well into the afternoon. He called for her maidservant and instructed the girl not to disturb Sansa for the rest of the morning.

As Tyrion was finishing up his meal, Podrick entered the room with a missive. "It came by raven from King's Landing," he said as he held it out to Tyrion.

Tyrion took the message but did not open it. He had more important business to attend to first. "A word, Podrick."

"Yes, my lord?"

"Why am I suddenly the laughing stock of Winterfell this morning? Have they just now realized that I'm a dwarf?"

Podrick's mouth twisted as if he was doing his best to suppress a laugh. "It isn't that, my lord."

"Then what is it?"

Podrick bent closer so that no one but Tyrion could hear. "It's your lady, my lord."

"Sansa?" Tyrion was confused.

"You see, one of the servants was passing her bedchamber last night while you were . . . um, well . . . visiting her," Podrick said, his cheeks starting to flush red with embarrassment. "And, according to this servant, Lady Sansa was rather . . . enthusiastic about your visit."

It took Tyrion a moment to fully comprehend what Podrick was implying. When he did, all he could manage was, "Ah, I see. Thank you, Pod."

"My lord." Podrick bowed his head and then excused himself from the room.

Tyrion's eyes scanned the hall. There were several servants milling about here and there, chatting. He wondered if they were talking about him and the things he had done to his wife the night before. It was a relief to know they weren't laughing at him, but he knew Sansa would be horrified if she discovered that the entire castle was gossiping about her in such a manner. Tyrion just hoped that the novelty would soon wear off and Sansa would be spared being humiliated in her own keep.

Tyrion had every intention of reading the letter Podrick had just delivered, but before he got the chance, he caught sight of Arya standing in the doorway on the other side of the room. She was watching him, a sly smile on her lips, and Tyrion knew she was just as well-informed of his nocturnal activities as the rest of Winterfell. He cringed inwardly, afraid of what he knew was to come.

The instant he spotted her, Arya began moving toward him, the self-satisfied smirk never leaving her face. When she finally reached the head table, she sat down directly across from him, so that there was no way he could avoid her scrutiny. "Good morning, my lord brother."

"Good morning, Arya."

"Did you sleep well last night?" she asked, her grin widening.

Tyrion scowled. He knew Arya was there just to tease him, but he was in no mood for it. What had happened the night before between him and Sansa had been wondrous, a precious gift that he'd thought would be kept just between the two of them. He didn't want to share any part of it with anyone else. Not even Arya.

"I think you know how I slept last night. I think all of Winterfell knows."

"Thanks to my sister."

"Yes, well, you don't intend to tell her that, do you?"

"And why shouldn't I? Better I should tell her than she hear it from one of the servants." Arya reached out and plucked a roll from the bread plate between them. She leaned back in her chair and began idly picking at it as they talked.

"I'd rather she didn't hear it from anyone," Tyrion replied. "She's nervous enough as is. I don't want to give her anything else to fret about."

Arya shrugged. "She's going to hear it one way or the other. Either I can tell her, or you can tell her. It's your choice."

Although Tyrion hated to admit it, he knew Arya was right. There were no secrets in Winterfell. The instant Sansa left her chamber, she'd know that something was amiss, just as he had. Better she hear it from someone close to her than from idle gossip. Still, despite what they had shared the night before, Tyrion knew he couldn't tell her himself. He feared she might misconstrue anything he said on the subject, and then she'd never come to him again. No, it was better to let Arya talk to Sansa, one woman to another.

"If you feel you must tell her," Tyrion said, "I won't stop you. But please, be gentle about it. Don't tease her. It's been difficult enough to overcome her insecurities. The last thing she needs is another reason to be self-conscious. Please, whatever you do, be tactful."

Arya eyed him thoughtfully for a moment. "You really do love her, don't you?"

Tyrion stared at Arya, suddenly unable to breathe. He refused to admit, to himself or to anyone else, that his feelings for Sansa went beyond mere friendship. Love was a very dangerous thing. It had only ever brought him heartache. He was not about to lose his heart again, not without knowing that his love could someday be returned. He couldn't do that, not even for Sansa Stark. If he did, he knew this time it might finally destroy him.

Arya laughed when Tyrion failed to reply. "You can't even deny it, can you?"

"I . . . I care for her a great deal, but—"

"But you don't love her?" Arya quirked a brow in challenge.

"I . . ." Tyrion couldn't bring himself to answer. He broke Arya's gaze, dropping his eyes to his lap. It was then that he saw the letter Podrick had brought him, and he decided to ignore the question altogether. He held up the scroll and looked at Arya again. "I've had a message from King's Landing, and I really should see to it immediately. It's never good to ignore the dictates of one's queen."

Without giving Arya a chance to reply, Tyrion pushed his chair back from the table and hopped down. Arya stood just as quickly, rounding the table and blocking his path before he could make his escape.

"Do you really think you can avoid the issue forever?" she asked.

"I think I have much more pressing matters to concern myself with right now. If you would excuse me."

Arya's mouth quirked in a knowing smile, but she said nothing. She simply stepped aside, allowing him to pass.

Tyrion exited the room as quickly as he could, retreating to his own chamber, thankful for the momentary reprieve. He had no desire to examine his feelings for Sansa more closely. All he wanted was to survive from one day to the next. Getting his hopes up had never served him well before, in anything. He would not allow himself the luxury of false hope now.

The moment Tyrion was alone, he sat down at his desk and opened the letter Podrick had given him. It was from Daenerys. She and Jon had made it safely to King's Landing, along with the rest of their party. She expressed her good wishes for his marriage and the hope that he and Sansa would visit them one day in the Red Keep. Tyrion doubted Sansa would ever willingly set foot in King's Landing again, but he was glad to know that his queen missed him. He missed her too. He knew it would be years before their paths crossed again, if ever.

After reading the note several times, Tyrion curled up the scroll and tucked it in his desk drawer. Then, he penned a quick missive to Daenerys. There was so much he wanted to say, but he hated sending personal sentiments by raven. One never knew whose hands a letter might fall into before reaching its intended recipient. It was better to be vague and noncommittal than to put anything substantial in writing.

So, while Tyrion wrote that his relationship with his wife was improving, he did not elaborate further, hoping that his queen would understand his meaning without any of the sordid details. More than anything, he wanted Daenerys to know that she had been right about Sansa and that she had made a wise choice by allowing him to step down from his post as Hand.

When the letter was done, Tyrion added his seal and laid it on his desk. He would call for a raven and send it later that morning. He leaned back in his chair and stared out into the room, his mind preoccupied with myriad thoughts.

The night before had been a revelation. He had learned so much about Sansa from just that single encounter. He felt closer to her than he ever had before, and yet, in the harsh light of day, all his own insecurities came bubbling to the surface. He had been able to please her in bed, yes, but that didn't mean that anything had changed between them. They were still friends, at best. Nothing more. Just because he'd succeeded in taking her out of herself for a few blissful moments, it did not mean that she cared any more for him than she had before. Despite what Arya thought, he and Sansa were not in love. They were just two people trying to navigate a difficult situation as best they could. That was all.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

The room was still dark when Sansa awoke. She turned over in bed and looked at the shuttered windows. There was sunlight peeking from around the edges, so she knew it was daytime, but no one had come to wake her.

She stretched lazily, her whole body aching. And then, she remembered what had happened the night before, and her skin flushed warmly from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes.

Sansa relaxed back against the mattress, staring up at the ceiling, trying to absorb the emotions washing over her. She was embarrassed, yes. After all, she had never imagined a man doing the things that Tyrion had done to her the night before. But she was also . . . content? It was such an odd feeling. She had enjoyed everything he had done to her, and his efforts had left her tired and sated. She was glad that she had trusted him. He had done exactly what he'd said he would do. He had made the experience pleasurable for her, and even now, she was amazed by the feat.

Sansa had never understood why some women claimed to love having a man in their bed. She had thought that it was just a ploy to lure men to them. But now she knew better, now she knew that women were just as capable of feeling pleasure as men were, and she felt as if she suddenly knew a great secret that had always been hidden from her. Of course, she couldn't tell a single soul – ladies didn't speak of such things – but she wished that she could. How many other girls were frightened to go to their marriage beds? If only they knew what was possible with the right husband.

A smile tugged at Sansa's lips, and since she was alone, she didn't fight it. Tyrion was a gifted man, in many ways. In fact, other than his height, she couldn't think of a single area where he was lacking. Everything about him was exceptional, and Sansa was glad that she had chosen him for her husband. The gods had been watching out for her when they had put the idea in her heart.

Sansa decided not to laze in bed too long. Soon, she called for her handmaiden to help her prepare for the day ahead.

The maidservant arrived quickly and helped Sansa into her gown. Then, Sansa sat at her dressing table and allowed the girl to arrange her hair.

"How late is it?" Sansa asked.

"Just passed the afternoon meal, my lady."

"That late?" Sansa's eyes darted to the now open windows to assess the light.

"His lordship commanded that you not be disturbed."

Sansa turned back toward the dim mirror in front of her, seeing through her own reflection. Tyrion was always thoughtful, wasn't he? Just a moonturn earlier, she might have thought he had chosen to let her sleep as a way to usurp her power in the Great Hall. But no, he had doubtlessly met their petitioners that morning without her, not because he had wanted to make the decisions himself, but because he had wanted her to get some much-needed rest. She had spent the past fortnight dreading sharing her bed with him again. When she had finally relaxed, her body had succumbed to complete and utter exhaustion.

"How does it look, my lady?"

It took Sansa a moment to realize that the girl was talking to her. Finally, she returned to the moment and gazed at herself in the mirror. "Lovely, thank you."

"Of course, my lady," her maidservant replied with a polite nod. "Is there anything else?"

"No. You may be excused."

The girl bobbed her head again and then disappeared from the room, drawing the door closed behind her.

Sansa knew she couldn't hide in her chamber all day, nor did she want to. But she feared seeing Tyrion again so soon. She'd had little time to absorb all that had passed between them the night before, and she worried that the moment their eyes met, she'd fall apart. She still felt embarrassed by some of the things she had allowed him to do to her, and she wondered if he would now think less of her because she had been so bold. Even though Tyrion was used to the waywardness of whores, she was a lady, and therefore, he had every right to hold her to a higher standard.

And so, Sansa went in search of Arya. She needed someone to talk to, and even though she and her sister had never truly been close, Arya was the nearest thing Sansa had to a friend. Besides Tyrion, of course.

Sansa found Arya in the yard, sparring with Brienne. They must have been fighting for a long time because Arya's hair was damp with sweat even though it was cold outside. Sansa watched the two women fight as if they were soldiers on a battlefield. Sansa had never understood what attracted Arya to the sword, but it did seem to suit her, nonetheless.

Arya finally noticed Sansa's presence, their eyes connecting for a brief moment. Then, with the practiced ease of a skilled swordsman, Arya divested Brienne of her weapon and brought her blade to her throat.

"You have bested me again, Lady Arya," Brienne said, holding her arms out to her sides in surrender.

Arya shrugged. "So, I have. Shall we spar again tomorrow?"

"Of course, my lady." Brienne excused herself with a quick nod of her head and then left the yard.

Arya sheathed Needle and turned toward Sansa. "I thought you only liked to watch handsome knights fight."

Sansa ignored the comment. "You're very good. In fact, you're quite extraordinary."

"Well, thank you," Arya said proudly, her hands clasped behind her back. "I hear there are things that you are very good at too."

"Are you paying me a compliment? You never compliment me, Arya."

"Well, the whole castle is talking about it today, so why shouldn't I pay you a compliment?"

"What are you talking about?"

But Arya didn't answer. She just grinned and made her way out of the yard.

Sansa couldn't help but follow. She had to know what her sister knew.

Arya didn't stop until they were in the godswood. It was one of the few places they could go where they would not be disturbed. Arya sat on one of the snow-covered stones at the base of the heart tree. Sansa sat beside her.

"Is there a reason we had to come all this way for you to answer my question?" Sansa asked.

"You're easily embarrassed, and I didn't want to make matters worse for you."

"Meaning what exactly?"

"Meaning that the entire castle knows what you did last night and just how much you enjoyed it."

Sansa stared at Arya, not quite comprehending her words. "What . . . what do you mean?"

A half smile quirked Arya's lips, but she didn't look at Sansa. "Just that you were quite enthusiastic last night when Tyrion . . . well, did whatever he did to you."

A rush of blood suddenly warmed Sansa's cheeks. She had never been so embarrassed. Not even when Joffrey'd had her stripped in the throne room of the Red Keep. All of Winterfell knew what she and Tyrion had done the night before? All of Winterfell? She couldn't even fathom such a thing. And now, she didn't know how she was ever going to show her face inside the keep again.

Arya finally turned toward Sansa. "Oh, don't look so horrified. Most of the ladies are quite jealous. Everyone is wondering just what it was that Tyrion did to make you carry on so."

"Carry on?" They were the only words Sansa could manage.

Arya's smile widened. "Yes, quite loudly. So, what did he do?"

Sansa's cheeks burned even hotter. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Suddenly, her mind flashed to the night her Aunt Lysa had married Littlefinger. That night, Sansa had lain awake in bed for hours, listening to her aunt's screams of pleasure echoing down the hallway. Although it had been apparent that Lysa had enjoyed Littlefinger's attentions, Sansa had been certain it was only because her aunt was a deeply disturbed woman, that no sane woman could ever behave in such a manner. But now, Sansa knew that even though Lysa had undoubtedly been disturbed, the pleasure she had experienced with Littlefinger had been real. The night before, Sansa had behaved just as wantonly when Tyrion had visited her bed, and she felt utterly mortified.

When Sansa failed to reply, Arya said, "You are a married lady now, surely you're not embarrassed by what goes on in the marriage bed."

Sansa scowled, and Arya laughed.

"That's not funny," Sansa said.

"Of course, it is. My prim, dignified sister losing control in a dwarf's bed? It's hilarious!"

"It was not his bed."

"You know what I mean."

Sansa couldn't bear to look at Arya anymore. She turned away, gazing out over the freshly fallen snow. "How am I ever to show my face in the keep again? Everyone knows."

"Everyone knows that the lord and lady of Winterfell are trying their best to produce an heir for the good of the North," Arya said, her tone sobering just a bit. "There's no shame in that."

"Yes, but there is shame in acting in an undignified manner. Which is exactly what I did last night."

"You shouldn't be sorry, you know?"

"Shouldn't I? I am the Lady of Winterfell. I have a standard of decorum to uphold. Mother was certainly never so brazen. I have disgraced her."

"You don't know that. You have no way of knowing what she was like when she was young and first married to Father. Perhaps they were just as happy in their bed as you and Tyrion are."

Sansa groaned, horrified by the thought of her parents engaging in such an activity. She knew they had, of course – after all, they had produced five children – but it wasn't something she wanted to think about.

"Tyrion and I are not happy," Sansa replied, desperate to steer the topic away from her parents' marriage bed.

"You sounded quite happy last night."

Sansa's eyes flashed back to Arya. "You heard?"

Arya stared at her blankly, confirming Sansa's worst suspicions.

"What? Did you stand outside my door the entire time, spying on me?"

Arya shook her head. "No. But I was close by in case you needed me. I didn't know if you were going to need a comforting shoulder when it was over, and I wanted to be there for you if you did."

Sansa found it impossible to be angry with Arya after such an answer. Ever since they had been reunited at Winterfell, things had been different between them, better somehow. With Bran north of the Wall and Jon in King's Landing, they were all that was left of the Starks of Winterfell. They only had each other now, and despite all odds, it had brought them closer together.

"Thank you," was all Sansa could say.

"You're welcome. Now, tell me what he did last night."

"I can't."

Arya gave Sansa a censorious look.

"I mean it," Sansa said. "I simply don't have the words to describe any of it. And I ask you not to press me. It shall only increase my distress."

"Do you think he learned all those things from whores?"

Sansa didn't want to discuss Tyrion's past with Arya. She wished she was anywhere else in the world at that moment. Unfortunately, her only other option was returning to the keep, and she wasn't ready to face anyone else yet. So, she did her best to answer. "I suspect that he did."

"Do you think he's ever bedded a lady before?"

Sansa was surprised by the question. It was a notion that had never even occurred to her before. Had there been other ladies of rank among Tyrion's conquests, or had all his attentions been focused on women who were paid for their favors? "I . . . I honestly don't know."

"I bet that he hasn't. He's too shrewd for that. Better to dally with fallen women than to risk disgracing a lord's daughter. Particularly when you're a dwarf."

"A dwarf but also a Lannister. Don't forget that."

"Yes, but the least powerful of the Lannisters. Well, until now, of course. I'm certain that when Lord Tywin was alive, Tyrion was never so bold as to disgrace a respectable woman."

If what Arya was suggesting was true, it meant that Tyrion had only ever lain with whores before coming to their marriage bed. It also meant that everything he had done to her the night before, he had learned from fallen women. Suddenly, Sansa didn't feel all that enchanted by what they had shared. She just felt ill.

Sansa's gaze dropped to her lap as she idly twisted her fingers in the folds of her gown. She was such a fool.

"What's wrong?" Arya asked after a long silence.

Sansa laughed. "For a moment, I was actually beginning to think that what Tyrion and I had shared was special in some way." She looked up at her sister. "But now, I realize that what we shared was nothing more extraordinary than the daily occurrences in any brothel. And I feel as if I have disgraced myself."

"You haven't disgraced yourself. And you shouldn't feel as if either you or Tyrion have done anything wrong."

"But he—"

"Did his best to make a horrible ordeal bearable for you. What is wrong with that?"

"But I enjoyed it. Which makes me no better than one of his whores."

Arya laughed, and Sansa was horrified.

"This isn't funny. My miserable marriage isn't a laughing matter."

"Your marriage isn't miserable. Actually, from what I've observed, it's almost a happy one."

"You mean from what you've seen while you've been spying on me?"

Arya shrugged, but she didn't deny anything. "You've been given a gift, Sansa. A kind husband who doesn't abuse you and who makes you happy in the marriage bed. Don't take that for granted just because your pride is injured. You're better than that." Arya rose then and turned toward her sister. "Now, I shall be returning to the keep. I'm sure you have a lot to think about."

Sansa made no protest. She simply nodded, and Arya left her alone in the quiet of the godswood.

Sansa knew that Arya was right. After everything that she had been through, particularly with Ramsay Bolton, it was a miracle that she was even capable of enjoying a man's touch. And yet, knowing that her husband had shared such intimacies with scores of women before her, made her heart ache in a way she hadn't imagined possible.

Sansa knew that Tyrion's appetites were legendary, so legendary, in fact, that he'd felt compelled to pay to have them satisfied. But now that she had experienced them firsthand, she wondered what it all meant to him. Was she just another warm body from which he could seek his pleasure, or had what they'd shared meant something more to him?

Even though theirs wasn't a love match, Sansa wanted to know that Tyrion wanted to be with her and her alone. She wanted to know that she meant more to him than the countless women who had come before her. That somehow, he saw her differently, despite the fact that she had acted no better than a wanton whore when he'd visited her bed. Sansa knew it was just her silly feminine pride, but she felt it all the same.


	19. Chapter 19

Author's Note: Tyrion very briefly thinks about his first wife, Tysha, in this chapter. It's worth noting again that this story is based solely on the television show and not on the books. On the television show, Tyrion seems to truly believe that Tysha was just a whore hired by his brother Jamie to make him a man. And so, in this story, that it still what Tyrion believes.

* * *

Chapter Nineteen

That night, Sansa was quiet all through the evening meal, and Tyrion was quite concerned. He knew, of course, that she had probably spent the day suffering the stares and whispers of the servants as they'd gossiped about what had happened the night before, but he'd hoped that when he finally saw her again, she'd at least have a kind smile for him. But she didn't. She didn't smile once all evening, not even when Tyrion and Arya tried to joke with her. Nothing could sway her from her staid mood, and Tyrion was quite disappointed.

When the meal was over, Arya excused herself, leaving Tyrion alone with his wife. She looked so beautiful in the candlelight. He longed to reach out and cover her hand with his own, but he knew she was in no mood for even the simplest gesture of affection. He knew she was embarrassed about what had happened with the servants, but he had hoped that it hadn't ruined the entire experience for her. He wanted her to be happy, more than anything.

Tyrion didn't know how to approach her, what to say that wouldn't send her scurrying away from him. He opened his mouth to speak, but she quickly cut him off by pushing her chair away from the table and standing.

"May I be excused, my lord? I am tired, and I would like to retire for the evening."

Ordinarily, Tyrion would have let her go. But he couldn't. Not tonight. They needed to talk before whatever was troubling her drove them even further apart. "Actually, I would like to have a private word with you before you retire."

Sansa's eyes sparked with alarm. He knew she hadn't expected him to deny her request. "I am very tired, my lord."

"Yes, I know. You said that. But this can't wait." Tyrion pushed his chair away from the table and stood. "Will you join me in my chamber? I won't keep you long."

Sansa nodded curtly. He could tell she was unhappy that he had decided to press her, but she wouldn't deny him. After all, he was her husband and he had not made an unreasonable request.

Sansa followed Tyrion to his chamber. He ushered her inside and then closed the door behind them. She stood there awkwardly, staring down at him. He knew she didn't want to be there, and he would do his best to make the ordeal as quick and painless as possible.

"Please," he said, holding his hand out toward the high backed bench on the far side of the room, "make yourself comfortable."

Sansa did as he instructed, without a single word.

Tyrion crossed to the table in the center of the room. "Would you like some wine?' he asked as he poured himself a glass.

"No, thank you."

Tyrion quickly downed his drink, knowing he was going to need the fortification, and joined Sansa on the bench. He left a considerable distance between them so as not to make her feel any more uncomfortable than she already was.

"Sansa, I realize that this has been a trying day for you, but I had hoped that after everything we have shared together, that you would be less distant today. Something is troubling you, and I would like to know what it is."

Sansa sat primly on the edge of the bench, her back straight, her hands clasped in her lap. She met Tyrion's gaze directly, like the dignified lady that she was. "It is nothing of concern, my lord."

Tyrion tensed. He hated when she refused to call him by his given name. It was always the first sign that she was pulling away from him, and he was desperate not to lose her. "Sansa, it is of great concern to me. Your happiness and welfare are always of great concern to me."

"I am fine, my lord. Just tired."

Tyrion wanted to swear but resisted the urge, afraid to further upset his wife. He exhaled a calming breath and then tried another tack. "That very well may be so, but that isn't why you're pulling away from me. I know that there has been some gossip today regarding, well . . . what happened last night, and I'm sure that has caused you some embarrassment."

"It has, but that isn't what troubles me. I have suffered embarrassments before. What happened today is nothing compared to what I endured in King's Landing."

"Then what is it?" Tyrion asked, his brow furrowing with concern. A minute earlier, he'd been certain that he'd known exactly what was troubling her, but now he wasn't so sure.

It took Sansa a moment to reply, as if she was weighing her words carefully. Finally, she said, "Is there anything you did to me last night that you didn't learn from a . . . whore?"

Tyrion stared at her in shocked silence. He had never expected such a question from Sansa. And although he knew how she'd prefer him to answer, he couldn't lie to her. When he was capable of speech again, he said, "No. I must admit, they taught me everything I know."

Sansa looked away, obviously unable to bear the sight of him. "Have there . . . have there only ever been whores?"

Tyrion sighed. Although he had never exactly been proud of his past, he'd never been ashamed of it either. Sansa was horrified by his history, by the things he'd done and who he'd done them with. He had done worse things than bed whores, but he certainly had no intention of telling her that, at least not at this point in their relationship. He didn't want to give her any added reason to hate him. She was finding plenty on her own.

"Until we were wed, I had never shared the bed of a lady before."

"You mean of a woman you didn't have to pay?"

Her words cut him to the very core. Tyrion didn't understand why she suddenly found his history so upsetting. After all, his past conquests were no secret. He was known throughout Westeros for being quite the lecher. So, why was Sansa upset about it now?

"All men pay for it," he replied. "Some with coin and some with marriage."

Sansa turned to glare at him. "Are you calling me a whore?"

"What? No, no," Tyrion said quickly, trying to stem the tide of her anger. "That isn't what I meant. Yes, I've only ever bedded whores before our marriage. Is that what you wanted to hear? That I have never held the favor of a lady of quality? That no one has ever wanted me unless I paid them very well? Because that is the truth. I'm just sorry that it took you this long to figure out how much it disgusts you."

Sansa looked like she wanted to cry. Tyrion was instantly sorry for having raised his voice to her. He hadn't meant to lose his temper. He knew it was the last thing he should do around his new bride.

"Sansa, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell."

Sansa shook her head. "It isn't that. I'm sorry, Tyrion. I'm sorry that the world has been so cruel to you. You deserve better."

"And so do you, Sansa. So do you."

"Your past doesn't disgust me. That's not why I've been distant today."

"Then why?"

Sansa took a moment to compose herself before replying, "When I awoke this morning, I was convinced that what we had shared last night was . . . special, in some way. And then I realized that I was just one among dozens – hundreds, maybe. And suddenly, I didn't feel so special anymore."

"Sansa—"

"I know it's foolish. After all, this isn't a love match. But knowing that every other woman who has ever shared your bed was paid for her services, made me wonder where I fit in. You are a man who has felt no shame in seeking his own pleasure, and it made me think that, perhaps, that is all you want me for. The pleasure."

Tyrion shook his head. Even after she'd been through so much, Sansa still knew very little about men. She was still such a sweet, innocent girl, despite all that she'd suffered. He wished, in that moment, that he could just reach out and hold her, but he knew he couldn't. He didn't want to give her a single reason to run away from him again. She was opening up to him, and he wouldn't do anything to jeopardize that.

"You are my wife, Sansa. You mean so much more to me than just a body to warm my bed. You have to know that."

"But the things you did to me," she said, her gaze faltering for just a moment, "those are things that a man does with fallen women, not his wife."

"They are things this man does with his wife, if she is willing. If she is not willing, he will never do them again."

"It's disgraceful. I am not a whore. I am the Lady of Winterfell."

"Of course, you are. And if you think I have ever treated you otherwise, please tell me, because that was never my intention."

"Are you ashamed of me?"

"What?" Tyrion was utterly bewildered by the question.

"For the way I behaved last night?"

"No, no, never. Sansa, last night, you were a revelation!"

Sansa stared at him as if she didn't quite understand his meaning.

"You . . . you were amazing. Beautiful and passionate. I've never been with a woman who . . . who wanted me as much as you did last night." Tyrion was shocked by his own revelation, but it was true. Every other woman who had ever claimed to want him had been paid to want him. Even Tysha. Even Shae. Although some of them may have felt a genuine attraction to him, their motives would always be suspect. But Sansa, Sansa had wanted him the night before. Or, at least, she had wanted the pleasure he'd been able to give her. And that was more than enough for Tyrion.

Sansa looked away again as if shamed by his words. "Is it wrong of me to have wanted it?"

"No. It was a blessing. A gift. You should never feel ashamed for wanting to experience pleasure. Especially at the hands of your husband."

She still would not look at him, and Tyrion felt compelled to keep talking. He feared she would draw inward again, and he didn't want to lose her.

"Sansa, I want you to be happy in this marriage. I realize that happiness is a relative term, all things considered. But I want you to be as happy as you possibly can be. If you want me in your bed, and I can bring you even a moment of happiness there, please do not be ashamed of your feelings. They are perfectly natural, and I am quite relieved that you've finally allowed yourself to feel them. You deserve much more than this wretched world has given you. You deserve all the happiness you can find, wherever you can find it."

"Are you happy, Tyrion?" she asked, finally looking up at him again.

He laughed. "I am happier than I have any right to be."

"You don't regret marrying me?"

"Why should I?"

"I haven't been a very accommodating wife."

He shook his head. "And I wouldn't have you any other way."

He smiled at her, and she offered him a hint of a smile in return.

Tyrion knew it was time to let her go. "Now," he said, pushing himself down off the bench and standing beside her, "I have kept you long enough for one night. I will not keep you any longer."

He had expected Sansa to rise as soon as he'd made the offer to let her leave, but she didn't. "I would not mind staying a little while longer if it's all the same to you."

Tyrion was surprised but did his best to hide it. "Of course, my lady. Whatever you wish." He pulled himself back up onto the bench and sat beside his wife, at a loss for words. He found it quite interesting that Sansa was the only person he had ever known who was capable of leaving him tongue-tied. Words were his gift, and yet, sometimes when he was with her, they completely failed him.

They sat in silence for a while, until finally, Sansa spoke. "I have sought the counsel of the other ladies of the keep with regards to our desire to produce an heir for Winterfell."

"Yes, I am well aware."

"I have been advised that if we wish to increase our chances of achieving our goal, we should . . . we should lie together once every other day, for the next several days, rather than only once a moonturn."

"Are you amenable to that?" Regardless of how she had reacted to him the night before, Tyrion knew that there was no guarantee that Sansa would invite him to her bed again anytime soon. She was still young, inexperienced, and insecure, and he had every intention of being just as patient as ever with her. He would not do anything that might risk driving her away from him again.

Sansa finally looked at Tyrion. "I am," she replied.

Tyrion hadn't expected that answer. In fact, he'd honestly believed that she wouldn't come to him again until the moon had completed its cycle. And yet, here she was, offering herself to him. He was hopeful, yet wary. He feared she was pushing herself too far too fast, and he wanted her to be certain that she knew what she was doing before they went any further.

"You're certain of this?" Tyrion asked. "There will be many more chances for us to conceive a child. It need not be this time around."

"It is our duty to try."

"But is it your pleasure?"

Sansa's cheeks darkened a shade, and Tyrion found it quite enchanting. Whores never blushed, but his wife did.

"I think . . . I think I can endure it, my lord," she said, fighting back a smile.

"Well then, my lady, I shall come to you on the morrow."

Sansa nodded, then quickly stood. Tyrion scrambled off the bench, surprised by her abrupt decision to depart.

"Tomorrow night, then," she said.

"Tomorrow night."

"Good night, Tyrion."

"Good night, Sansa. Sleep well."

She nodded again, then left the chamber, closing the door quietly behind her.

Tyrion stood there, staring at the door, utterly bewildered and besotted by his new wife. She never stopped surprising him. In one day's time, he would be lying in her bed again, loving her as he had once only dreamed of loving her. He was a very lucky man, and he was determined not to take that for granted.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

The next morning, Sansa awoke in a bit of a daze. She was filled with both anticipation and apprehension of what was to come later that night, and just the thought of it distracted her from everything else, including the knowing glances and hushed whispers of the servants. When she joined Tyrion in the Great Hall to meet with their daily supplicants, she could not focus on anything but him. All she saw was Tyrion, and all she could think about was what he was going to do to her when they were finally alone together.

As Tyrion questioned the petitioner before them, Sansa turned to look at him. He was sitting upright in the high backed chair beside hers. His eyes were clear, and his tone authoritative. He looked like a man who had been born to power, and Sansa was entranced by the sight of him. It seemed so strange to her that once, not too long ago, she'd thought so very little of him, feared him even. But now, she truly was proud to call him her husband. The way he commanded a room was awe-inspiring. She understood now how he had earned his position as Hand of the Queen. He was, perhaps, the most brilliant man in Westeros. And one of the most charismatic.

Sansa examined Tyrion's face as he talked. The scar on his right cheek had faded some, but it was still clearly visible. She couldn't help but agree with Margaery Tyrell now. It did make him look rather dangerous and dashing.

Sansa's skin flushed, and she quickly pulled her gaze away from her husband's face. She didn't know when she had started to think of Tyrion as handsome, but she had. And she was more than a little surprised by the fact. It was something she had never expected to think. Not about Tyrion Lannister.

"Lady Sansa, what is your opinion on the matter?"

Sansa heard Tyrion's voice, but she was barely conscious of it.

"My lady?"

Finally, Sansa turned to look at him again. He was staring up at her with genuine concern in his eyes.

"What is your opinion on the current matter?" he asked again.

Sansa hadn't heard a word the petitioner had said. She didn't have an opinion. She'd been too distracted by other things. Of course, she couldn't admit that, not here before everyone in the Great Hall. And so, she replied, "I defer to your wisdom, my lord."

Tyrion nodded his understanding and then turned back toward the supplicant.

Sansa sighed in relief, then looked at the man in front of them, determined to focus on the task at hand. But it was no use. For once, she didn't have a head for diplomacy. She had much more pressing concerns on her mind.

The rest of the morning moved quickly as Tyrion handled all the important work, and Sansa sat quietly observing. It was a relief to have a husband who was so trustworthy and capable. It was certainly something she would never take for granted.

When the morning's business was over and everyone had left the hall, Tyrion asked Sansa to stay behind.

"Is something wrong, my lord?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you. You've been distracted all morning. That isn't like you, Sansa. And if something is wrong, I would like to know."

She shook her head. "Nothing's wrong. I just have a great many things occupying my mind. I am sorry. I am certain I will do better tomorrow."

"You mean once you are no longer under an obligation to let me in your bed again."

"It's not what you think," Sansa replied quickly, afraid he still thought she dreaded the idea of him coming to her.

"Then what is it?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and looking up at her.

Sansa wasn't sure she had the words to explain. "I find that I have many conflicting emotions about what is to happen tonight, and I am distracted by my own uncertainty. That's all. It isn't fear if that's what you're concerned about. I am no longer afraid of you. I hope you know that."

He nodded. "I do."

"Then I hope you won't worry too much about me. I shall be better once my thoughts are more settled."

"If you'd like, we could settle them right now."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, just because the sun is out, does not mean that I can't come to you now."

"But . . . but it's not even noon."

A slow smile spread across Tyrion's lips. "True. Very true. But there is no law that says a man and woman can only lie together in the dark. In fact, it can be done anytime, anywhere. It need not even be done in a bed."

Sansa blushed. She couldn't help herself. "I thought we agreed last night that I am no whore, my lord."

Tyrion laughed. "I wasn't implying that you were. I was just trying to save you countless hours of painful anticipation, that's all. But if you would prefer to wait out the day, distracted by thoughts of what is to happen tonight, that is your choice. I will not push you. I just wanted you to know that the option is available to you. Always."

Sansa looked away from him, horrified. Her gaze rested on the table, and suddenly, she was struck by an unsettling thought. Tyrion had said they could lie together anytime, anywhere. Did he mean right then and there on the head table in the Great Hall? Sansa knew that Tyrion was known throughout Westeros for his many perversions. She was certain he would think nothing of taking her right there on the table where they ate their meals and conducted business. She shivered at the thought.

"I think I would prefer to preserve my own dignity, my lord," Sansa replied. She looked at him again. "I have no interest in being ravished right here in the hall."

Tyrion laughed again. "Oh, Sansa, you do have a splendid imagination, don't you? And people say I'm the one who's perverse." Sansa scowled, and Tyrion quickly softened his tone. "All I meant was, I could come to your chamber now and have done with it. That's all. I would never dream of doing anything that might disgrace you before your people. I do have standards, and I do respect you."

"What happened the other night disgraced me before my people."

"And I'm sorry for that. But that was your doing, not mine."

"Mine? But you're the one who . . . who . . ." Sansa couldn't finish. "Never mind."

Sansa's hands rested in her lap, and Tyrion suddenly surprised her by reaching out his own hand and gently placing it over hers. The contact was a shock to her system, rendering her speechless. Her skin tingled where he touched her, and her whole body flushed warmly.

"Sansa, I don't want this to be any more difficult for you than it already is. I am not trying to hurt you or bring you down to my level." He laughed to himself. "The gods know you could never sink that low. I just want you to be happy, to have a little joy in your life. That's all. I hope that you understand that."

He pulled back then, and Sansa felt bereft. She had liked the feel of his hand against her own. It had been surprisingly comforting. But then, everything about Tyrion was surprisingly comforting. He always knew how to make her feel better, how to make the unbearable bearable. She didn't know how he knew, but he did. Every time.

"Now," Tyrion said when she didn't reply, "if you don't mind, I will leave you. I have some ravens to send on their way, and I'm sure there are more important things you could be doing than talking to me."

"I can't think of a one."

He smiled at her. A kind, genuine smile. "I am flattered, my lady. Thank you. Now, I must leave you."

They both stood, and instead of simply offering her a polite nod of his head, Tyrion reached for her hand again. This time, he brought it to his lips and placed a chaste kiss against her bare skin.

Sansa nearly fell through the floor. Her body was instantly alive with anticipation, and for a moment, she was sorry that she had turned down his offer to take him to her bedchamber that very morning.

Tyrion released her hand almost as quickly as he'd taken it. "Until tonight, Sansa," was all he said before leaving her there alone in the Great Hall.

Sansa stared after him, utterly bemused. She didn't understand why or how Tyrion suddenly had such power over her. It was as if, only two nights before, he'd unlocked the secrets of her body and now he knew how to use those secrets against her. Sansa prided herself on being strong and in control, and yet, whenever Tyrion touched her, she suddenly felt completely helpless. She knew it was better to want her husband than to fear him, but still, it made her feel like she was at a tactical disadvantage. She didn't like being weak, and Tyrion made her feel weak, albeit in the best possible way. Tonight, he would take command of her again. He would leave her helpless and breathless. And she wasn't sure if she was ready for it. After all, surrendering to Tyrion meant surrendering her power. Thankfully, she trusted him. She just hoped that she didn't lose herself so completely again. She didn't want to give her people any more reason to gossip. And she didn't want to lose any more of herself to Tyrion Lannister.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-one

That night, Tyrion stripped himself down to just his tunic before donning his robe and leaving his chamber to visit Sansa. Unlike the previous times he had gone to her bed, he knew that this time there would be no chance of her rejecting him. Even though Sansa was still unsure of herself, Tyrion knew this was something they both wanted, and for the first time since they'd been wed, he was actually looking forward to lying with her. For once, it wouldn't be torture or a chore. He wanted her, and she wanted him – even if she couldn't quite admit it yet.

Tyrion stood outside Sansa's door, trying to keep his emotions under control. Although he was filled with nervous excitement, he knew that he had to project an air of complete calm for his bride. Whatever she needed, he would give her. And anything she didn't want to do, he would gladly back away from. He wanted her to be happy. He wanted her to be glad of the choice she had made. He would do anything to make the encounter pleasurable for her.

Once his excitement was sufficiently tamped down, Tyrion finally knocked. Sansa quickly bid him enter, and a moment later, he was inside her bedchamber, the door closed behind him.

He looked up at Sansa. She was standing in the center of the room, dressed in just her nightshift, her bright hair laying wildly about her shoulders. She looked magnificent! How Tyrion longed for her to strip off her shift and bare her body before him. He would never ask her to do such a thing, of course, but he wished it just the same. On their wedding night, he had caught a brief glimpse of her naked body, and it had been glorious. So glorious, in fact, that it still haunted his dreams.

Tyrion's cock was already hard as he moved closer to his wife. "Good evening, Sansa," he said, stopping a comfortable distance away from her.

"Good evening, Tyrion."

She seemed calmer than she ever had before on one of these occasions. Of course, he could still feel the nervous energy radiating off of her, but it was different this time. There was less fear in her eyes now and more expectancy.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted her to lower herself to her knees, so that they were at an even height, and kiss her senseless. But he knew that wasn't an option. He needed to take things slowly. He needed to be patient with her.

They stood there in awkward silence, neither one saying a word. Finally, Tyrion felt he had no choice but to speak, lest they stand there all night, staring at each other. "Would you care to join me?" he said, motioning toward the bed.

Sansa nodded. She moved across the room, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and then slipping her legs beneath the covers. She did not lie down. She simply sat there, watching him, as he walked around to the other side of the bed, discarded his robe, and climbed the short staircase. He settled himself on the mattress, sitting up beside Sansa, his eyes drawn to her face.

It was a joy to see her so at ease, under the circumstances. It had taken a long time, but Tyrion finally felt as if she truly did trust him. There was a connection between them that hadn't been there two days earlier, and he was grateful for it.

Tyrion wanted to start slowly, to take his time with her. He hoped that she would let him.

Without a word, he reached for her hand. He brought it to his lips, just as he had done that morning, and gently kissed her bare skin. Sansa didn't even flinch. She simply watched him, their eyes locked the entire time. Then, he turned her hand over and kissed the inside of her palm. Sansa inhaled a sharp breath, and Tyrion smiled. He kissed her again, this time, sweeping out the tip of his tongue to taste her.

Sansa instantly pulled her hand away, and Tyrion looked up at her in surprise.

"I . . . I'm sorry," she stammered, "I just didn't expect . . . that."

"It's all right. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

Sansa shook her head. "No, no, you didn't. Please," she held her hand out to him again, "continue."

Tyrion was pleased that she was willing to let him try again. He cradled her hand gently in his own and lowered his head, kissing the sensitive flesh of her palm softly. Then, he used his tongue again, and he felt her stiffen.

Tyrion had no desire to make her uncomfortable. He knew that any new sensation was difficult for her and that he had to tread cautiously.

He directed his attention to her palm for only a moment more before moving higher to kiss the pulse at her wrist.

Sansa moaned softly, and Tyrion knew it was safe to continue. He kissed his way along the exposed flesh of her arm, all the way up to the soft skin at the bend of her elbow. He placed a few gentle kisses there, then leaned back and looked up at his new bride.

Her eyes were dark with desire, and Tyrion couldn't have been more pleased. He wanted her to want him. It meant more to him than anything in the world.

"Sansa, I—"

But he didn't get to finish. Sansa leaned forward, and without any warning, pressed her lips against his.

Tyrion nearly fell backwards, but he steadied himself, leaning into her. He doubted she knew much about kissing, and there was so much he wanted to teach her.

Gently, he began to move his lips against hers, and Sansa instantly pulled back a hairsbreadth, breaking contact. She was so close to him that he could feel her breath fluttering against his lips. He wanted to close the distance between them and kiss her again, but he would not do so until she was ready.

It did not take long for Sansa to regain her composure. Slowly, she inched forward, allowing her lips to brush softly against his. Then, she moved her hand to his cheek, holding him there, as she kissed him in earnest.

Tyrion couldn't hold back any longer. He entwined his fingers in Sansa's hair, drawing her closer. He kissed her with a passion he hadn't felt in more years than he could count. When he swept his tongue inside her mouth, Sansa whimpered but didn't pull away. She welcomed him inside, and he nearly came right then and there. He wanted to take things slowly with her, but every time she showed the least bit of enthusiasm for his touch, his body threatened to betray him. He needed to get himself under control, and yet, he couldn't drag himself away from her kiss.

Tyrion lowered Sansa to the bed, never breaking contact. She moved her fingers into his hair, holding him close. He had never wanted anyone more. Had circumstances been different, he would have simply gotten on top of her and taken her right then. But he couldn't. He wanted his chance to explore her while she was still willing. He feared that, once they had both found fulfilment, she would oust him from her bed and he wouldn't have a chance to touch her again for another moonturn.

Without his lips ever leaving hers, Tyrion moved one hand lower, trailing his fingers along her neck and down past her collarbone. He wanted to touch her breasts, but he feared how she would react. He held his breath as his hand swept lower, gently gliding over one firm mound.

Sansa gasped, her whole body tensing, and Tyrion was forced to end the kiss.

He hovered over her, their faces mere inches apart. "Relax, Sansa. I'm not going to hurt you."

It took her a moment, but finally, she nodded her acceptance. An instant later, she exhaled, relaxing back against the mattress.

Tyrion wasn't sure if he should kiss her again or concentrate his attentions elsewhere. He was desperate to see all of her, but he didn't know how she would feel about baring herself before him. Was she ready to expose herself to him completely? He sincerely doubted it.

And yet, he wanted them to move forward, he wanted her to learn how to be free with her body when they were alone together. And so, he kissed her again, gently this time, as his hand moved to cup her breast.

Sansa moaned into his mouth as he began to knead her soft flesh. Tyrion's cock pulsed painfully with unspent desire, but he worked through the pain, concentrating on giving his wife pleasure.

He teased one mound of flesh and then the other, before finally breaking away from her mouth and kissing his way down the length of her neck. He placed a trail of soft, wet kisses along her collarbone and then moved lower to the valley between her breasts, where her nightdress was held together by a single white ribbon. All he had to do to expose her nakedness was untie that ribbon.

Tyrion pulled back and gazed up at Sansa. She stared back at him with worry etched across her brow.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing." Tyrion toyed with the ribbon that held her gown together. "But I would very much like to see you naked."

Sansa's skin flushed a shade darker. "Yes, my lord. Whatever you wish."

Tyrion knew her heart was not in her answer. She was only agreeing because she felt it was her duty to do so. He didn't want her to feel an obligation to please him, especially in her bedchamber. "No, Sansa. Not what I wish. What you wish. And if you don't want to show yourself to me, you don't have to. I am not demanding, I am asking. And you are more than welcome to say no."

She didn't answer at first, and he was afraid that he had pushed her too far, that she was going to close herself off from him again, as she had done so many times before. But she didn't. It took her a few thoughtful moments, but finally, she said, "I want you to see me, Tyrion. Please."

Tyrion's heart nearly shattered at that simple word, please. She wanted to be brave, and she wanted him to help her be brave. He could not deny her.

Slowly, he tugged at the ends of the ribbon, his eyes still locked with Sansa's. The knot easily gave way, the ends of the ribbon slipping silently through his fingers. Tyrion held his breath as his gaze drifted downward. With more calm than he felt, he pulled back the fabric on both sides of her gown, revealing her perfect breasts.

Sansa was deathly still as he examined her. Tyrion didn't want to make the ordeal any more difficult for her than it already was, but he couldn't stop himself from staring. Her skin was a flawless ivory, her breasts small but firm. Despite her apprehensions, he could tell that she was highly aroused by the tautness of her dusky nipples. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and Tyrion couldn't have been more elated.

With practiced ease, he reached out and gently caressed one rosy bud with his fingertips. Sansa drew in a sharp breath, her flesh tensing beneath his touch.

Tyrion knew that he could try to calm her with words but that a demonstration of his affections would be much more persuasive. And so, he slowly lowered his head to one erect nipple and drew it into his mouth.

A strangled sob escaped Sansa's throat, but Tyrion ignored it. He teased her flesh with his teeth and tongue, drawing the most delicious sounds of pleasure from his wife. Within moments, her body relaxed, and she finally surrendered to his touch.

When he had finished lavishing one breast with attention, he moved to the other. This time, he felt Sansa's fingers curl into his hair, pulling him closer. He knew she was enjoying what he was doing to her, and he was oh-so-very glad.

Tyrion had never imagined being able to touch Sansa in such a way. Not even after what they had shared the last time they had been in her bed. There was an intimacy in seeing her naked, in kissing her exposed breasts, that went beyond the mere act of coupling. He was glad that she had let him in, that she trusted him enough to give all of herself to him. She was an amazing woman, and he was the luckiest man in all of Westeros.

Sansa was now squirming beneath him, her body begging his for completion. But he wasn't done with her just yet.

Tyrion moved lower, covering the smooth expanse of her stomach with chaste kisses. As he did so, he inched her shift down over her belly and past her thighs. Without any prompting, Sansa kicked the gown free, burying it somewhere beneath the blanket of furs, and suddenly, she was lying naked before him.

Tyrion pulled back so that he could examine his wife in all her glory. She was such a slim creature, lithe and graceful. He had always known that, of course, but seeing her entire body now, he was struck by just how willowy and nubile she was. Her breasts looked even more beautiful from his new vantage point, and the russet curls between her legs beckoned him like a siren's song. Tyrion couldn't help but feel that it was a shame that such perfection was to be wasted on a dwarf. After all, Sansa could have had any man in Westeros. She deserved a strong, strapping knight in her bed, a handsome man with strength and beauty to match her own. Instead, she had ended up with him. She deserved a great deal better.

"What's wrong, Tyrion? Am I not pleasing to you?"

Tyrion's gaze shot to hers. "Of course, you are. Why would you think that?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, self-consciously covering her breasts. "You look . . . displeased."

"No, Sansa, no. I was just thinking that you deserve so much better than an ugly dwarf in your bed. You're too beautiful for me, and I know it."

Sansa sat up then, forcing Tyrion to move aside. She dropped her arms, once again exposing herself to him, her earlier insecurities forgotten. "You are not ugly, Tyrion. You are actually quite handsome. And I don't want any other man in my bed. Only you. Do you understand that?"

"You feel that way now because of all that you've been through and because I'm the only man who's shown you kindness in more years than you can remember. But someday, someday you're going to realize that you could have had so much more."

She shook her head. "Never. No one is ever going to be more patient with me or more understanding. "I . . . I want you, Tyrion. Please."

Tyrion was struck silent. He knew that Sansa liked what he did to her when they were in bed together, but to hear her actually say that she wanted him was more than he had ever imagined possible. His mind returned to that long-ago night, back in King's Landing, when they'd first been wed. That night, he'd told her that he would not share her bed until she wanted him to. That night, the possibility of her ever wanting him to had been so remote that he'd been unable to imagine any scenario in which it might come to pass. But now, now they were here, together, and Sansa wanted him. Tyrion didn't know how to react. He was too overcome with emotion to think clearly.

Tyrion couldn't speak. He could barely even breathe. Slowly, he leaned forward to kiss her, and Sansa met him halfway. They kissed until they were both breathless.

"I want you, Tyrion," she whispered again huskily. "Please, take me."

Tyrion very much wanted to lay her back on the bed, crawl between her legs, and give her exactly what she had asked for. But there was something else he wanted more. He wanted her to feel that she had control of the situation, that she was as much in command as he was. And so, he pulled back, leaving a considerable distance between them, and said, "I want you to take me."

Sansa stared at him in confusion. "What?"

"You want me, don't you?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then you are going to take me this time, not the other way around."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"It's fairly simple. I'll show you."

Tyrion lay back on the mattress, staring up at his wife. Although she was now naked, he was still wearing his tunic. His manhood was fully erect, and it strained at the linen of his shirt, pulling the hem up to the tops of his thighs. "I want you to get on top of me," he said soundly.

Sansa's eyes scanned the length of his body, stopping for just a moment where his eager cock was tenting the fabric of his tunic. When she looked back at Tyrion, she shook her head adamantly. "No, I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"But—"

"Do you trust me, Sansa?"

"Yes, but—"

"What happened the last time you trusted me in your bed?"

Her gaze fell from his, and he could see her playing out the memory of their last night together in her mind. The last time he had asked her to trust him, he had gifted her with unimaginable pleasure. He knew she wouldn't deny him now.

"Well?" Tyrion prompted.

She finally looked at him again. "How . . . how do I—?"

"Exactly how you think. Come here, Sansa."

He held out his hand to her, and she inched closer.

"Straddle my hips."

She lowered her gaze, her eyes focused on his erection. "I can't. There's no way."

"Yes, you can. It's been inside you before. It will not be difficult or painful. I promise."

Sansa eyed him doubtfully but did as he had instructed. Instead of straddling his hips, however, she straddled his legs, obviously afraid to impale herself on his cock.

"Good girl," he said. "Now, lift the hem of my tunic."

Sansa stiffened, but Tyrion was determined to help her push past her apprehension.

"You can do it. You're a married woman now. There's nothing shameful in it."

Sansa reached for the hem of his shirt. It took her a moment, but she was finally able to move it upward, revealing his engorged shaft. Sansa stared at it, her eyes examining every last inch, and Tyrion squirmed beneath her scrutiny. His manhood was far from a thing of beauty, and he was quite surprised that she had taken such an interest in it. He had expected her to look away as soon as he'd been exposed.

Sansa reached out a tentative hand, and Tyrion held his breath, waiting to see what she would do. With the gentleness of a feather, she caressed his heated flesh, and he nearly came that very instant.

"Sansa," he called out in a strained voice.

She pulled her hand away as if she'd been burned. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . ."

"Don't be sorry. I am delighted that you want to touch me, but not now, not this time. If you do, I may not last until I am inside you, and this whole exercise will be for naught."

It took her a moment to realize what he meant, but finally, he saw understanding dawn behind her pretty blue eyes. "Then what would you have me do, Tyrion?"

"Lower yourself onto me. You can do it."

Sansa still looked doubtful, but she did as she was told. She moved forward, so that her hips were just above his, then slowly lowered herself down onto his cock.

Sansa gasped as she settled herself on top of him. She stared at Tyrion in wonder, obviously amazed that she'd been able to do as he'd instructed. Tyrion willed himself not to come. He wanted her to enjoy herself first. She deserved to take her pleasure from him, and he was determined to do everything he could to make that happen.

"Now," Tyrion managed, the words nearly strangled from his throat, "ride me."

Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"As you would a horse," he provided.

Sansa made no further protest. It seemed their present position had left her utterly speechless. So, instead of talking, she began to move. At first, her movements were tentative. He could tell that she feared her weight would crush him, but he was heartier than that.

"You need not be afraid of hurting me, Sansa. I am a lot sturdier than I look. Just lose yourself. Take your pleasure, and don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"But I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. Trust me."

By now, those two little words worked like magic with his wife. Her body finally relaxed, and she began to find her rhythm. It was slow at first but soon escalated to a frenzied pace. She threw her head back, pushing her breasts forward as she rode him hard, striving for her own release. Despite the ribbing she had received only two days earlier about her enthusiasm in the bedchamber, she couldn't hold back her cries of ecstasy. She was as impassioned as ever, and it was glorious.

Tyrion was thoroughly entranced by the sight of her, her red hair haloing around her like flames as she took her pleasure. He dug his fingertips into her legs, desperate to hold out until she climaxed, but she was making it nearly impossible. Just the sight of her was enough to make him come, so he shut his eyes as tightly as he could and waited for her to reach her peak.

When she finally came, she called out his name, and that was enough to drive Tyrion over the edge. His entire world shattered in a single instant, and he lost himself inside of her.

It took Tyrion a moment to drift back into consciousness. When he finally opened his eyes, he found Sansa hovering above him, her head down, her hair cascading over his chest. He reached out his hand and placed it on the crown of her head, stroking her hair softly.

Sansa looked up at him.

"Are you all right?" he asked, afraid to know the answer.

A small smile graced her lips. "Yes," she replied.

Tyrion sighed in relief. "Good. I'm glad."

Sansa moved off of him then and settled herself beside him on the bed. Just as he had done the time before, he reached down and pulled the blankets up over them for modesty's sake. Now, he was just waiting for Sansa to ask him to leave. He counted the moments, savoring each one.

"Why did you ask me to do that?" she asked, surprising him.

Tyrion turned so that he could look at her. Sansa was curled up on her side, her cheek resting against her pillow.

"I wanted you to have control for once. You and I are equals, Sansa, in everything. I wanted you to understand, without any doubt, that you have as much power in this relationship as I do."

"How did you know I could do that?"

Tyrion smiled. "You are capable of a great many things, Sansa Stark. The least of which is riding your husband."

She blushed but didn't look away. "Thank you, Tyrion."

"For what?"

"For being so kind to me. For being so patient."

He shook his head. "That's not something to thank me for. A man should always be kind and patient with his wife. I'm just doing my duty."

"It's more than that, and we both know it."

Tyrion's heart thumped painfully in his chest. For a moment, he thought she was going to accuse him of being in love with her, just as Arya had done the day before. The problem was, if she did, he knew he wouldn't be able to deny it. Not anymore. Tyrion didn't know when it had happened, but at some point, he'd fallen in love with his wife. The truth was, he didn't know if it had happened here at Winterfell or back in King's Landing. All he knew was, he felt as if he'd loved her his entire life. And even if it meant a future full of heartbreak and unrequited love, he couldn't deny the truth any longer. At least, not to himself.

"I . . . I don't know what you mean," Tyrion stammered.

"You're not kind to me because it's your duty, you're kind to me because you're a good man, Tyrion Lannister. I'm sorry I didn't realize that sooner."

Tyrion exhaled a relieved sigh. "I think you realized that long before tonight."

"Yes, but I wish I had realized it back in King's Landing. I should have trusted you more then, and I'm sorry I didn't."

"You had every right not to trust me. Trust is something earned over time. So is a good opinion. All that matters is that you have a good opinion of me now. The past is the past."

"And I am happy to leave it behind."

"So am I."

They looked at each other for a long moment, and again Tyrion wondered when she was going to ask him to leave. He didn't want to go, but he knew, despite what they had just shared, that they weren't lovers, they were just friends with a duty to perform. And so, overcome by the awkward silence, Tyrion said, "I should probably be going. I'm sure you want to get some sleep."

He turned to move off the bed, but Sansa's hand on his arm stopped him. "Please, stay."

Tyrion turned back toward her. "Are you sure? I know you usually prefer to be alone afterwards."

"I don't. I truly don't. I want you to stay the night. Please."

Tyrion couldn't deny her anything, nor did he want to. He settled back onto his side so that he could look at his beautiful bride. He took her hand and gently kissed each one of her fingers. "I am a very lucky man," he said, more to himself than to Sansa.

"You are not the only one the gods have chosen to bless. I could not have asked for a better husband."

Tyrion looked up at her in surprise. "You can't mean that."

"But I do. You're sweet and gentle, kind and intelligent. The entire North admires you, and rightfully so. You have done wonders here at Winterfell and for all the people of the North. You are a thoughtful and careful ruler, and you have done nothing but show me patience and understanding. How could I ever want anything more in a husband?"

"Well, I can think of a few things I'm lacking."

"Like what?"

"Like a good couple of feet in height, for one."

Sansa laughed. "You worry far too much about your height. No one calls you the Imp anymore, with good reason. So, besides that, what else do you lack?"

He wanted to say her love, but he couldn't do it. He would never ask for her love in return for his, because he knew she could never give it. So, he answered, "I suppose nothing. But I'm sure if I were less exhausted I'd think of something."

Sansa giggled. He'd never heard her giggle before. It was absolutely enchanting.

"Well, perhaps you can think of something on the morrow," she said. "But for now, you must agree that you are a wonderful husband."

"I'll agree to adequate, not wonderful."

"Extraordinary?"

"Serviceable," he countered.

Sansa laughed again. "Very well, we shall agree to disagree." She leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss against his lips. "Good night, Tyrion."

"Good night, Sansa."

She turned her back toward him then and settled down into the mattress. Tyrion stayed just as he was, staring at his wife, thoroughly amazed by her. Gods, how he loved her! He just wished he'd have the chance to tell her one day. He'd never loved anyone the way he loved Sansa. If only she were capable of loving him in return.


	22. Chapter 22

Author's Note: In this chapter there is again some talk of Tyrion's first wife, Tysha. As mentioned before, this story is based solely on the television series and not on the books, so not only does Tyrion still believe that Tysha was a whore, but Sansa also has no knowledge of that first marriage.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-two

When Sansa awoke the next morning, she was surprised to find Tyrion still in her bed. Of course, she had asked him to stay, but she hadn't been certain that he would be there when she awoke. She was happy to find that he hadn't left her. She liked waking up with him by her side. It was unexpectedly comforting, and she didn't know why she had waited so long to invite him to stay.

Sansa turned onto her side so she could examine her husband. He was lying on his stomach, his face turned toward her. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, and Sansa had the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch him. She wanted to run her fingers through his dark curls, to brush her hand against his cheek. It was such an odd feeling. She didn't know where it had come from, but suddenly, she wanted to be closer to Tyrion, to know every inch of him as intimately as he knew every inch of her.

Just the thought made desire stir inside her, and Sansa was more than a little surprised. She had never expected her marriage to Tyrion to be like this. She had thought that she would simply endure his touch until they produced an heir and then be free of her obligation to their marriage bed. But she didn't want to be free of it. Not ever. She longed for his touch now. He made her feel things she'd never imagined she was capable of feeling. What a wonder Tyrion Lannister was!

Suddenly, there was a soft knock at the door, and Sansa instantly sat up, clutching the furs to her chest. Before she could tell whoever was on the other side to go away, the door opened, and her maidservant stepped inside carrying a tray of food. The girl looked at the bed and gasped in surprise.

Sansa was mortified at being caught in bed with her husband. She stared at the girl in shocked silence.

"I'm sorry, my lady. I thought you were still asleep." The maid quickly put down the tray and disappeared from the room, closing the door behind her.

Sansa stared at the door for the longest time. She knew that there was nothing wrong in asking her husband to sleep in her bed, but she was still uncomfortable with such things, and the idea that all of Winterfell knew what they had done still embarrassed her to her very core. She knew, in time, she would be less self-conscious, but for now, she couldn't overcome her sense of mortification.

Tyrion began to stir beside her, and Sansa wasn't sure if she should sneak out from beneath the covers and dress before he awoke or stay buried beneath them until he left. Ultimately, the choice was made for her.

Tyrion turned over onto his back and greeted her. "Good morning, wife."

Sansa looked at him over her shoulder. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, and she knew he would notice.

"What's wrong?" he asked, the instant she faced him.

"Nothing. My maidservant was just here. She brought the morning meal."

"Ah, I see. And you're embarrassed to be caught in bed with your dwarf of a husband."

"Stop it, Tyrion. Being a dwarf has nothing to do with it, and you know it. I just . . . I just don't want anyone to see me like this. It isn't right."

Tyrion leaned forward, placing a single kiss against her back, and Sansa's whole body flooded with warmth. If he had asked her, at that moment, to lie with him again, she would have done so without a second thought. All it had taken was one simple kiss for her to want him again.

"She's a maidservant," he said. "She's seen far worse, I'm sure."

"But not of me. I am the Lady of Winterfell. I have to maintain my dignity."

Tyrion laughed. "No one could ever accuse you of being undignified, Sansa. It's impossible. You are the epitome of the word dignity."

"Even last night when I was . . .?" She couldn't finish the thought. How she had ever managed to do what Tyrion had asked of her the night before, she couldn't imagine.

"Especially last night," he said, pulling himself up in the bed and moving closer. He kissed her back again, this time, starting at her shoulder and moving downward with practiced skill.

Sansa closed her eyes and sighed contentedly as his lips worked their magic. "Tyrion," she whispered.

"Yes, my love?"

Sansa's eyes flashed open, and suddenly, the spell was broken.

Tyrion must have sensed the change in her because he instantly stopped. He leaned back against the headboard with a defeated sigh. "Do you want me to go?" he asked, his tone distant.

Sansa thought for a moment. He had never called her his love before. The word wasn't one either of them could ever use in connection with their marriage. And yet, he had done just that. Was it just a careless endearment or something more? Did Tyrion love her? If so, she couldn't imagine why. She hadn't been a very good wife to him. She had been scared and skittish since the day they had first wed, not the kind of wife a man like Tyrion Lannister deserved, and definitely not the kind of wife that he could fall in love with.

"I think I'll go," Tyrion said, pushing the covers aside and moving toward the steps.

"Wait!" Sansa said, grabbing his arm and stopping him. "I don't want you to go. Please."

"Are you sure? I seem to have overstepped my bounds. I am sorry."

Sansa shook her head. "No, don't be. You didn't do anything wrong."

He looked at her skeptically, but he didn't argue. "Would you like me to bring you some food?"

Sansa's eyes went to the tray that her maidservant had left earlier. Her stomach growled plaintively, and that was all the answer that Tyrion needed. He got down off the bed and crossed the room to retrieve their breakfast. He was still dressed in his long linen tunic, and suddenly, Sansa was even more acutely aware of her own nakedness. Now, she wished she had snuck out of bed and donned her nightdress before he'd awoken. She had never taken a meal while unclothed before, and the very thought unnerved her. She wanted to get dressed, but in order to do so, she would first have to bring attention to her own nakedness, and she simply couldn't do that. So, she decided to pretend that she was perfectly fine with her current circumstance, lest she embarrass herself even further.

Soon, Tyrion returned to Sansa's side, placing the tray on her lap before rounding the bed and climbing the steps. He settled himself beside her.

Sansa looked down at the tray. It had been laid out for two even though she had not informed her maidservant of her intention to spend the night with her husband. The fact that the servants knew he had not only bedded her but had also slept in her chamber was unsettling. There were no secrets in Winterfell anymore, a fact that Sansa knew she had no choice but to become accustomed to.

"Would you care for some tea?" Tyrion asked when she failed to reach for anything from the tray.

"Yes, yes, please."

Sansa sat there and watched Tyrion pour her a cup of tea. They had broken their fast together so many times now that he knew exactly how she liked it. A moment later, he handed her the cup, and she coddled it protectively between her palms. She couldn't bring herself to drink it, however. Famished though she was, she had suddenly lost her appetite.

"I really think I should go," Tyrion said.

"I wish you wouldn't."

"But why? I can see all of this makes you uncomfortable. You'd be much better off if I left. You could get dressed and enjoy your morning meal in peace."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not, Sansa. You are the exact opposite of fine."

"Even so. I don't want you to go." Sansa didn't know why, but it was the truth. Perhaps she was afraid that everything they had shared the night before would disappear from his memory the moment he left the room. The night before had been something akin to magical, and Sansa was afraid to let it go just yet. "Tell me something, Tyrion. Tell me something about yourself that no one else knows."

He shifted uncomfortably on the mattress and cleared his throat awkwardly. "There's nothing to tell. My life is an open book," he said as he busied himself pouring his own cup of tea.

"If that were true, you wouldn't be fidgeting right now."

A bitter laugh escaped his throat as he stirred his cup. "All right. Fair enough. But if there are things about me that no one knows, there are reasons for that. Some secrets I can't ever share. I hope you can understand that," he said, finally looking up at her.

"Are they your secrets or someone else's?"

"Mostly mine, but still, to preserve the happiness of our marriage, I'd much rather keep them to myself."

"So, things I wouldn't particularly care for."

He screwed up his face in distaste. "Things I don't particularly care for." He brought the teacup to his lips and, instead of taking a sip, downed the whole cup as if it were a chalice of wine. Thankfully, the liquid was tepid, and she knew he had not done himself any harm.

"If you can't reveal all your secrets," she said, "then tell me something only your closest friends know."

Tyrion put the cup back on the tray and found himself a piece of bread to pick at. "You say that as if I actually have friends."

"Of course, you do. Bronn is your friend, isn't he?"

"That's defining the term very loosely. He was my paid sellsword. As you can see, in the past, I've had to pay for everything."

"I think he was more than that. And I'm certain that our queen counts you among her friends as well," Sansa said, finally taking a sip of tea.

Tyrion shook his head. "I was her advisor, nothing more."

"You just like thinking you're alone in the world, don't you? You prefer to think that no one really likes you. It makes it easier for you to wallow in self-pity, doesn't it?"

He eyed her shrewdly, and she knew she had hit a nerve. "You want to know something about me that only those closest to me know?"

"I do."

"All right, then." Tyrion put down what was left of the bread and resettled himself on the mattress as if he was about to tell a long story. "My first wife was a whore."

Sansa stared at him blankly for a moment. She wasn't sure if he was trying to insult her or if he was joking. When she was finally capable of speech, she said, "I am not a whore."

Tyrion laughed. "Of course not. You are my second wife. And my third wife. But my first wife, my first wife was most definitely a whore."

Sansa was stunned. She'd had no idea that Tyrion had ever been married before. Suddenly, she felt as if she didn't really know him at all. "What . . . what happened?" she asked, afraid that she truly didn't want to know.

"It's a classic tale. Boy meets girl. Boy marries girl. Boy discovers that girl was just a whore his brother paid to make him a man. You know, that kind of thing."

Sansa's heart broke for Tyrion. She could tell he was still bitter about what had happened, that it still caused him great pain. She wished she could make his pain go away. But she knew she couldn't. Instead, she asked, "How old were you?"

"Sixteen. Young and stupid."

Sansa laughed bitterly. "I know what it's like to be young and stupid. I thought I loved Joffrey, remember?"

"Yes, well, we all do idiotic things when we're young. I thought I loved Tysha. And perhaps, even more foolishly, I thought she loved me."

"I'm sorry, Tyrion. I'm sorry you had to endure that."

"Thank you, Sansa," he said softly, and she knew her sympathy meant a great deal to him. "So," he continued, "once my father discovered that I had married a whore, he had the marriage annulled, and that was the end of it, more or less."

"More or less?"

"There are some things that are not for a lady's ears. Not even a married lady."

"I've endured great suffering in my life, Tyrion. I've seen, heard, and done things no lady ever should. I can bear the end of your tale."

Tyrion leaned forward, searching the tray again for something with which to distract himself. He worked on pouring himself another cup of tea as he talked. "Once we were discovered, to drive home the point that my wife was just a whore whose favors could be bought and sold by anyone with enough coin, my father paid her to service his guards. And he forced me to watch."

Sansa stared at Tyrion for a moment. She had known that Tywin Lannister was a monster, but to hear what he had done to his own son struck her with surprising force. Tyrion had not deserved such cruelty, especially at the age of sixteen. "I suppose that was one of the reasons you killed him."

Tyrion looked up at Sansa, his eyes suddenly wary.

"It's all right," she said, "Tywin Lannister was a monster. He deserved to die."

Tyrion nodded. "Yes, yes he did." He exhaled a relieved breath and leaned back on the bed. "Well, I think that's enough serious talk for one morning, don't you?"

Sansa looked at the tray. She hadn't eaten a thing, but she wasn't hungry anymore. "Yes, I think that's enough."

"Then, let me take this out of your way, my lady." Tyrion climbed down from the bed, then reached up, taking the tray with him. He walked around to the table and put it down. When he was done, he turned to look at Sansa. "I thank you for asking me to stay this morning. I hope, in the future, we can share many more mornings like this."

"I would like that."

Tyrion smiled at her. "Good." He looked idly about the room as if he suddenly felt awkward standing there in nothing more than his tunic. "Well, I will be going now. I will see you in the Great Hall later this morning."

Sansa didn't want him to go. She knew she should, but the truth was, she still wanted him. It was absurd, of course. They had already done their duty, and she was under no obligation to lie with him again. But she couldn't help how she felt. She wanted him. Would it be so terribly wrong for her to ask him to return to bed for just a little while longer? "Must you go?"

"We've already broken our fast. What more could you want me to stay for?"

Sansa cast her eyes to her lap, heat rising in her cheeks. She had no idea how to answer that question without dying of embarrassment. But she knew she had to try. "I thought, perhaps, you would like to . . ." But she couldn't finish.

Tyrion moved toward the bed. He reached out and took one of her hands in his own. "Sansa, look at me."

She looked up, meeting his gaze. His eyes were so warm and kind. Why had it taken her so long to see that?

"Would you like me to come back to bed?"

She nodded, unable to say the words.

Tyrion squeezed her hand, then let it go. He rounded the bed, climbed the steps, then settled himself beneath the furs.

Sansa was grateful that he was so patient with her, that he understood her needs even better than she did. He was always so kind to her, and he knew how to take care of her. She was so blessed to have him in her life. She could not have had a better husband.

Tyrion leaned close and placed a chaste kiss against her shoulder, just as he had done before. Then, he trailed kisses down to the small of her back, until Sansa was moaning softly. It amazed her that something so simple could so thoroughly arouse her. She'd never imagined that such a thing was possible, but then, Tyrion made everything possible.

He pulled away then and encouraged her to lie back on the bed. Once she was settled, Tyrion kissed her, full on the mouth, and Sansa lost herself in him. Everything about him was so different from the other men she had known. There was nothing calculating in his kiss. He kissed her for pleasure, pure and simple, and it set her whole body aflame.

Tyrion took his time exploring her in the bright light of day, and it wasn't long before Sansa was begging him to take her. Just when she was certain she couldn't stand the anticipation any longer, Tyrion was inside her, driving deeply, urging her onward to her release.

Sansa dug her nails into his back as a wave of ecstasy washed over her. She screamed out his name, despite her desire to preserve her own dignity. A few seconds later, Tyrion called out her name and nearly collapsed on top of her.

Tyrion lay against her, his head on her breast, the weight of his body a welcome burden. Sansa leaned forward and kissed the top of his head before lying back and contenting herself with curling her fingers through his hair. She had never felt more sated or more wanted in all her life. Suddenly, she wondered if this was what love was, but she quickly pushed the thought away. She'd thought she was in love before, and she'd been oh-so-very wrong. She wouldn't make the same mistake again. Her heart couldn't take it.

Eventually, Tyrion pulled away, lying on his back beside her. "Sansa, come here."

Sansa wasn't sure what he wanted, but Tyrion guided her. A moment later, she was lying curled up against his side, her head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her. She had never imagined lying with Tyrion like this. This was how lovers lay together after making love. And although they didn't love each other, somehow, it felt so perfectly right.

Tyrion placed a gentle kiss against her hair. "I think you've earned just a little more sleep, don't you?"

"We have to be up soon. We have duties to see to."

"Yes, we just saw to one. Now, we shall recuperate before seeing to the other. Close your eyes, Sansa, and rest."

She wanted to argue with him, but she couldn't. She was too exhausted. She closed her eyes and relaxed against her husband. A moment later, she was fast asleep.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-three

Tyrion lay there holding Sansa for as long as he could. Although she needed her rest, he still had duties to perform, and he wouldn't shirk them. But it was hard to leave her. They had never been so close before, and Tyrion was afraid to break the spell.

He closed his eyes and listened to the rhythm of her breathing. She was such an amazing woman, his wife. So beautiful, so passionate, so caring. There was no denying anymore that he loved her. He just wished that she was capable of loving him in return.

Of course, the truth was, he wasn't really all that lovable. Tysha hadn't loved him. And apparently, neither had Shae. Even his own father had wanted him dead. Examining everyone he had ever known in turn, Tyrion realized that the only person who had ever truly loved him was Jamie. It was something, but not enough. Tyrion knew Sansa would never love him, but she trusted him and wanted him, and he would have to content himself with that.

When the hour grew late, and Tyrion could no longer afford to idle in bed, he gently slipped his arms from around his wife and descended to the floor. He stopped for a moment to look at her. She was lying on her side, her hair flowing gracefully around her shoulders. She was stunningly beautiful, and Tyrion ached to be with her again. But he couldn't. He had responsibilities that needed tending to.

And so, Tyrion quietly left Sansa's chamber, closing the door behind him. He returned to his own room and quickly dressed before going to the Great Hall to meet with their daily petitioners. As he had done the previous time he had visited her bed, he instructed the servants not to disturb her. He would do all the work while Sansa rested. She had been through a great deal, and she deserved some respite.

It was a long, boring morning of work in the Great Hall. Tyrion was distracted by thoughts of Sansa, and he wasn't at his most productive or imposing. When the morning's duties had been fulfilled, he retired to his own chamber for the afternoon meal, hoping to quietly eat alone. But that was not meant to be.

As Tyrion held up his cup to taste his first sip of wine, there was a knock on the door. His heart skipped a beat, hoping it was Sansa. He put the cup down without taking a drink. "Come in," he said.

The door opened, and Arya stepped inside. Tyrion was more than a little disappointed.

"Good afternoon, my lord brother."

"Good afternoon, Arya. Would you care to join me?" Tyrion motioned toward the food in front of him.

"I'm not very hungry. I just thought we should talk."

"Well, please, sit then. Watching you hover about makes me nervous."

Arya smiled and seated herself in the chair across from his.

Tyrion picked up his glass and asked, "What is it that you'd like to talk about?"

"I've come seeking your advice."

Tyrion's eyes narrowed on her. Not once since he'd been at Winterfell had Arya sought his counsel about anything. She'd given her own opinions quite freely – whether he'd wanted them or not – but she'd never asked for his advice in return. Tyrion was more than a little intrigued.

"Well," Tyrion replied, "you are more than welcome to it. Tell me what's troubling you."

"There's something I want to do, but I'm not sure how Sansa will feel about it, and I would like your opinion on the matter."

"Then, by all means, make your confession," Tyrion said, with more calm than he felt. He had no idea what Arya was about to tell him, and he was a little wary.

"I wish to return to King's Landing to join the Kingsguard."

Tyrion hadn't expected that. He lowered his cup, again without tasting it, his mind too rattled for wine. "Is this something you've discussed with Jon?"

"Oh, yes. Before he left Winterfell. But I told him I wouldn't leave until I was certain that Sansa would be all right."

"And?"

"And now that I know she is in good hands, I think it's safe for me to leave."

Tyrion didn't know how to feel about the prospect of Arya returning to King's Landing. Yes, she was an expert swordswoman, but could Jon really condone his own cousin becoming a member of the Kingsguard? Her life would be in constant peril, and she'd never marry. But then again, Tyrion knew Arya could take care of herself, and she had never expressed any interest in marrying, so perhaps the position was perfect for her. Knighthood had worked for Brienne of Tarth. Why not Arya Stark?

"Do you truly believe that your sister is safe with me?" Tyrion asked.

Arya grinned. "I am certain she is safe with you. And happy. I will not have to worry about her when I'm gone."

"Does Sansa know about this?"

"Not yet. Which is why I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to know if you think she's ready for me not to be here anymore."

Tyrion regarded Arya in quiet contemplation for a moment. He didn't know how Sansa would feel. He suspected that she would see Arya's departure as an abandonment, a betrayal. He wasn't sure, of course, but that was his first instinct.

"What makes you think I know Sansa that well?" Tyrion asked, his own uncertainty keeping him from voicing his concerns.

Arya's grin widened. "You share her bed. You know her better than anyone."

Tyrion shook his head. "No, I don't. I only know her as well as she has let me know her. You've known her far longer. I cannot tell you if she's ready or not."

"I may have known her longer," Arya replied, "but we were never close. She has only just begun confiding in me since we both returned to Winterfell. And still, I can't say that I know her very well. But you? She laughs when you're together. She turns to you for counsel. She lets you in her bed. You are closer to her than anyone, whether you know it or not."

Tyrion looked down into his cup, searching for answers he knew he wouldn't find. Even when Sansa was close to him, she still felt distant. He knew she could never be completely open with anyone, not after everything she'd been through. But the thought that he was closer to her than even her own flesh and blood was difficult for him to believe. He wanted to believe it, but it was a hope he couldn't afford to allow himself.

"I fear my wife will always be an enigma to me," Tyrion said. He looked up at Arya again. "I would like to tell you otherwise, but I can't. You will have to speak with Sansa and see how she feels."

"And how do you feel, Lord Tyrion?"

"I think if you want to return to King's Landing and Jon is amenable to it, then you should go."

"That isn't what I meant. I meant, how do you feel about my sister?"

Tyrion was silent, and Arya raised a brow in question.

"Well?" she prompted.

"I . . . I told you before," he said, practically stumbling over the words. "I care for her. I admire her, I hold her in the highest esteem."

"You love her."

Tyrion stared at Arya. There was a look of challenge in her eyes as if she was daring him to deny it. The last time she had accused him of being in love with her sister, he had retreated like a coward, frightened of his own feelings. But things had changed since then. Now, he knew how he really felt. There was no denying it, no running away from it. He loved Sansa, and he could not lie to Arya about it anymore.

"Yes, I love her," he admitted. "How could I not?"

"Plenty of men have known her and not loved her."

"They were all fools. Sansa is a gift from the gods. She should be worshipped and cherished all of her days."

Arya smiled again, softly this time. "You see now why I am ready to leave? You love her as much as I do, and I know she will be safe with you."

Tyrion sighed. It had felt good to confess his feelings for Sansa, even if it was only to Arya. It made his feelings seem more real, more valid. Arya could see the love he had for her sister. There was no denying it. He just feared what would happen if Sansa discovered it for herself. He feared she would reject his love and turn away from him, once and for all.

"You won't tell her, will you?" Tyrion asked.

"Of course not. I doubt she's ready for that just yet."

"No, I don't think she is."

"I will tell her that I am leaving Winterfell," Arya said, getting up from the table.

Tyrion didn't have the wherewithal to stand, so he just stayed where he was, despite the dictates of etiquette. "And if she asks you to stay?"

"I don't know. I'm sure Sansa will ask me to stay, but I don't think she needs me as much as she thinks she does."

"How can you be so certain?"

Arya laughed. "Because I've been replaced. She needs you a lot more than she needs me now. I just hope she can see that." Arya walked to the door. Before she opened it, she turned back to look at Tyrion. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to Sansa. I hope you know that."

"It would be very sad indeed if that were true."

"I will see you at the evening meal, Tyrion."

"Goodbye, Arya."

She left the room then, closing the door behind her.

Tyrion stared down into his cup again. How would Sansa feel when she discovered that her sister, the only family she had left, intended to abandon her? Would she handle it with calm and grace or would it shred her to pieces? Tyrion wasn't sure he'd be able to help her mend her broken heart if Arya left. After all, her feelings for him were not the same as his feelings for her.

Tyrion finally took a swig of wine. He needed some liquid strength to pacify the demons in his mind.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-four

It was well past noon when Sansa finally awoke. She was more than a little disappointed to find Tyrion missing from her bed, but she understood why he had gone. Even though she was lost in a romantic little daydream, there was still work to be done. Winterfell could not rule itself. She was certain that Tyrion had gone to the Great Hall to meet with their daily supplicants while she had still been fast asleep.

Sansa stretched languidly, enjoying the telltale ache in her muscles. Tyrion had left her well and truly sated, and she wanted nothing more than to lie in bed for the rest of the day and revel in the memory of what they had shared. But she knew she didn't have that luxury. She was the Lady of Winterfell, after all, and her duties consisted of more than just trying to produce an heir. She had a household to run, responsibilities to see to. She had lounged about for far too long already. She could not stay in bed a single moment longer.

With great reluctance, Sansa got out of bed and called for her maidservant. The girl arrived quickly, helping Sansa into a fresh gown and dressing her hair artfully. It was the same girl who had found her in bed with Tyrion that morning, and Sansa blushed at the memory. She sat on the bench at her dressing table, still and silent, as the handmaiden finished braiding her hair, afraid that if she said a single word, she might die of embarrassment.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and Sansa's heart beat just a little bit faster. She hoped it was Tyrion. If it was, her maidservant's work might all be for naught, because if Tyrion wanted to bed her again, she would gladly let him.

"Come in," Sansa said as she turned toward the door, her voice trembling with nervous anticipation.

The door opened, and Arya stepped into the room. Sansa's heart instantly sank with disappointment.

"Good morning, Sansa," Arya began, "or should I say, good afternoon?"

Sansa turned back toward the mirror in front of her, determined to ignore Arya's ribbing. She allowed her maidservant to finish her hair while Arya stood idly by, watching them. As soon as the girl was finished, Sansa excused her, and she quietly left the room.

Sansa sat there examining herself in the silvered glass, trying to prepare herself to face Arya. She could tell that her sister had something on her mind. She feared that Arya was there to tease her about spending the night with Tyrion, and she was in no mood for it.

Arya moved closer, gazing at Sansa's reflection in the mirror. "You look beautiful today, as always."

Sansa turned away from the dressing table to give her sister her full attention. "What do you want, Arya?" Arya had never been an idle flatterer. If she was paying compliments, she most definitely wanted something in return.

"I want to ask you something."

"Please," Sansa said, motioning toward one of the chairs at the nearby table, "sit."

Arya brought the chair closer, sitting directly in front of Sansa.

"Now," Sansa said, "what is it that you want?"

"How do you feel about Tyrion?"

Sansa blanched. That was the last question she had expected Arya to ask. "I . . . I admire him a great deal. I trust him. I think that he makes an admirable Lord of Winterfell."

Arya laughed.

"Why is that funny?"

"Because he gave me almost the exact same answer when I asked him how he felt about you."

"Why would you ask him such a thing?"

Arya shrugged. "Because I wanted to know."

"Well, I'm flattered to know that he thinks as highly of me as I do of him."

Arya shook her head.

"What? You said he told you nearly the same thing."

"Yes, he did. Until I pressed him further."

"Meaning what exactly?" Sansa's patience was wearing thin. She didn't like whatever game Arya was playing. She was afraid it was at Tyrion's expense, and she absolutely wouldn't stand for that.

"Just that I was unwilling to take such a practiced answer. That's all. I wouldn't take it from him, and I certainly won't take it from you."

"I've already given you my answer. The subject is closed." Sansa faced her dressing table again, hoping that Arya would go away.

But she didn't. "Why are you so afraid of how you feel? There's nothing to be ashamed of."

Sansa turned her head to glare at Arya. "I'm not afraid or ashamed. I respect my husband just as much as I respect Jon or Father. There is no shame in that."

"But that isn't all you feel, is it?"

Sansa opened her mouth to speak but couldn't find the words. Was Arya asking her what she thought Arya was asking her? If so, Sansa knew she would never be able to answer.

"I'm waiting," Arya said.

"Well, you can go on waiting, because I have nothing more to say on the matter. Now, if that is all, you may leave." Sansa turned away again, unable to bear Arya's scrutiny any longer. She was certain that she'd had enough of her sister for one day. But then, Arya surprised her.

"I'm leaving for King's Landing to join the Kingsguard."

Sansa froze. Her heart lodged in her throat, and she suddenly felt ill. She stared at herself in the glass, seeing right through her own image. Her mind was fraught with dread. She didn't want to be alone again. She didn't want to be the only Stark in Winterfell. She just couldn't bear it.

"I'm sorry, Sansa. I know this isn't what you want to hear."

Finally, Sansa turned on the bench so that she was face to face with her sister. She felt as if she was seeing her for the first time and the last time. Arya had become so precious to her since they had been reunited. Sansa didn't know how she could ever go on without her.

"How . . . how can you leave Winterfell after everything that's happened? How can you return to that horrible place?"

"I hear it's a lot less horrible now that Jon's on the Iron Throne. This is what I was meant to do, Sansa. It's where I belong, by Jon's side, protecting him."

"And what about me? Who's going to protect me?"

"Lady Brienne will stay behind. You need her a lot more than I do."

Sansa got up and began pacing the floor, racking her brain for something that could make Arya stay. "You can't leave," Sansa said. "You just can't. If you do, I will be the only Stark in Winterfell. I don't want to live that way again. I can't." Sansa stopped and looked at Arya. She felt as if she would burst into tears at any moment.

"You won't be alone, Sansa. You have Tyrion."

"Tyrion is not a Stark!"

"Yes, he is. He's your husband. That makes him a Stark."

"No, no it doesn't. You're just saying that to assuage your own guilt. You can't abandon me."

Arya finally stood, moving closer to Sansa. "I'm not abandoning you. You and I have never been close, Sansa. Not even this past year. Not really. You have your own life now with Tyrion. You don't need me anymore. But Jon does. And I need to make my own way in the world. I can't stay here forever."

"Don't go just yet. Please. I'm not ready for you to leave me."

"I think you are."

Sansa shook her head fervently. "No. I'm barely surviving. I can't do this alone."

"When will you realize that you're not alone? You have Tyrion."

"But he's a stranger."

"Is he?"

Sansa's first instinct was to argue with Arya. But in truth, she knew Tyrion better than she knew her own sister. She trusted him more as well. It wasn't that Sansa didn't think that Arya was a good person, but the horrors she had suffered between King's Landing and Winterfell had changed her irrevocably. She was unpredictable now, and sometimes, that frightened Sansa.

"He . . . he isn't you," Sansa replied.

"Exactly my point. I'm not the one you need. But Tyrion is."

Sansa could not face the truth of Arya's words. She drifted back toward the dressing table and sat down before her legs gave way beneath her. She stared down at her hands, overcome with emotion. She didn't want to be left alone with Tyrion. If Arya returned to King's Landing, he would be Sansa's entire world, and she simply wasn't prepared for that. She feared what would happen when they were finally alone together.

Suddenly, Sansa's insecurities got the best of her. "I'm afraid of Tyrion," she said softly, more to herself than to Arya.

Arya sat down in front of Sansa again. "What do you mean? Has Tyrion hurt you?"

"No, not yet. But I fear that he will. Not intentionally, of course, but . . ." Sansa couldn't finish the thought. It was all finally coming together in her mind, and she didn't want to face it. She feared that if she opened her heart to Tyrion, he'd trample it, just like every other man she had ever known. The only way to keep her heart safe was to keep it closed. She was too afraid to do anything else.

"Sansa." Arya slipped her hands over her sister's. "It's all right. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"I . . . I'm afraid Tyrion is going to break my heart."

Arya surprised her then by laughing.

Sansa looked up at her sister in horror. "That isn't funny. It's tragic."

"Of course, it's funny. Do you have any idea how desperately in love he is with you? He told me so himself."

Sansa shook her head. "No, no, that isn't possible."

"Why isn't it possible?"

"Because he hardly knows me."

"That isn't true, and we both know it. You know each other quite well, and you love each other more than either one of you is willing to admit."

Sansa couldn't believe Arya's words. She wouldn't believe them. Why in the world would Tyrion be in love with her? She'd been nothing but a nuisance to him since the day they'd first been wed back in King's Landing. She had no reason to believe he loved her, despite Arya's assurances.

"You're wrong," Sansa said.

"But he told me so himself."

"I cannot believe that. I will not believe it. And I don't wish to discuss this any further. If you are leaving me, then leave, but don't fill my head with silly notions of love and romance. I abandoned such foolish things long ago."

"No, you didn't. You just put them aside for a while. But maybe now it's time to take them up again."

"Are you through?"

"Yes, I've said my piece."

"Then leave me. I don't wish to see you again."

Arya left the chamber without another word. The instant Sansa was alone, she collapsed onto the dressing table and burst into tears.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-five

That night, Sansa didn't join Tyrion and Arya for the evening meal, and Tyrion was more than a little concerned. He knew that Sansa was upset about Arya's departure, but after everything they had shared that morning, he'd thought that she would be in high enough spirits to join them for dinner. Tyrion was so concerned, in fact, that when Sansa failed to make an appearance, he skipped the meal altogether and went in search of her.

Tyrion was dismayed to find that Sansa had not retired to her chamber, and for a moment, he was at a loss. But he'd spent enough time at Winterfell now to know where she would be, and so, he headed for the godswood.

The moon was high and full as Tyrion walked the snowy earth, the night cold and silent around him. He caught sight of Sansa long before he reached her, a solitary figure sitting on a stone beneath the heart tree, staring out into the darkness. There was a part of him that didn't want to disturb her. She looked too peaceful, too serene. But he knew, despite her reserved exterior, that she was battling demons in her own mind, and he desperately wanted to comfort her.

Tyrion could not hide his approach for long. His footfalls crunched the frozen snow, giving him away as he walked toward her.

Sansa looked up, clearly surprised to see him. "What are you doing here?"

Tyrion moved closer, sitting down on the stone beside her, but leaving a comfortable distance between them. Despite the intimacies they had shared just that morning, he knew she was in no mood to be wooed. He needed to give her space, to let her come to him on her own. He was there as a friend, not a lover, and it was important to him that she understood that.

"You didn't join us for the evening meal, and I was worried."

"I wasn't hungry," Sansa said, pulling her cape closer around herself as if it could somehow shield her from her pain.

"Of course, you weren't. How could you have an appetite after learning that your sister intends to abandon you for King's Landing?"

Sansa looked away, her gaze settling in the far distance, as if just by turning from him she could will the hurt away. "Arya is free to do as she pleases. She is not the Lady of Winterfell. And she certainly has no obligation to me. She can do whatever she likes."

"But you can't."

Sansa stiffened, and Tyrion knew he had struck a nerve. "My duty is to Winterfell. Arya's duty is only to herself now. She has made her choice, and she will not be swayed."

"Do you want to sway her?" Tyrion already knew the answer. He knew Sansa was devastated by the thought of losing her sister. What he didn't know, however, was if she was capable of admitting it.

"I don't care what Arya does. If she wants to leave, she may leave. Just like everyone else."

A pang of understanding struck Tyrion's heart, and he stared at Sansa with new eyes. "Is that what this is about?"

Sansa looked at him again. "Is that what _what_ is about?"

"Is that why you're so hurt? Because you feel like everyone you've ever loved has abandoned you?"

Sansa's blue eyes turned stormy, telling Tyrion all he needed to know. She opened her mouth to protest, but the words just wouldn't come.

"I'm sorry, Sansa," Tyrion said when she didn't reply. "I know what it's like to be forsaken by those you love, to be left behind. My whole life I've known nothing but heartache, rejection, and abandonment. I understand what you're feeling right now, better than anyone, and I am sorry."

Sansa shook her head, a hint of moisture glistening behind her eyes. She turned away, hiding her unshed tears. "I don't want her to go," she said softly, the words barely a whisper

"I know. I don't want her to go either. But it's time."

"Is it? Why does she have to go at all? Why can't she stay here at Winterfell with me for the rest of her life? She was born here. She belongs here, by my side. Not in King's Landing. Not in that dreadful place."

"She belongs wherever she will find her happiness. And if that is King's Landing, then so be it."

"She's being selfish," Sansa said as she straightened her shoulders and stared out into the night. "She's acting like a child."

Tyrion didn't think Arya was the one who was acting like a child, but he held his tongue, lest he upset his wife. He knew that Sansa was angry and frightened, and she had a right to those feelings, but she was letting her emotions get the best of her. She seemed determined to wallow in her own misery, no matter how hard he tried to reason with her. "I think Arya is just doing what she thinks is right. Just as you did when you offered me your hand in marriage."

"It's not the same thing."

"Of course, it is. You made a decision that you knew was right for you, and no one could have swayed you from it. Not Arya, not even your cousin Jon. No one. This, this is Arya's decision, one she made by herself for herself. I know it hurts. I know you don't want her to go, Sansa. But you have to accept it. It's her choice, and you can't hold her here any longer."

"I don't want to hold her here. I told her if she wants to go, she should go."

"And she has every intention of doing so."

"Good. Then she'd best do it quickly because I have no desire to see her again before she leaves."

Tyrion sighed. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration and fought the urge to swear. Sansa was being purposefully obstinate, and he wanted to yell at her, to scream at her, until she saw reason. But he knew getting angry with her wasn't going to solve the problem. If he raised his voice, she'd stop listening to him altogether, and that was the last thing he wanted.

So, Tyrion inhaled a steadying breath and did his best to reason with her as calmly as he could. "Sansa, your sister, your only sister, is about to leave Winterfell forever. It may be years, decades, before you see her again. Don't you at least want to say goodbye to her, one last time, before she goes?"

"I've said my goodbyes. I have nothing more to say to her or to you."

Sansa stood abruptly, and Tyrion scrambled to his feet. She headed toward the keep, and he followed after her, but her long strides were too swift for him, and he couldn't keep up. He stopped suddenly and called out her name, hoping that she wouldn't ignore him.

Sansa halted several yards away, but she didn't turn around. She stood there and waited for Tyrion to reach her. He hurried forward, stopping directly in her path so that she was forced to face him. He stared up at her, struck silent by the haunting beauty of her face. She looked so solemn, so sad, and he wished, more than anything, that he could take her pain away, that he could convince her that she wasn't alone, that she was loved. But the words got stuck somewhere in his throat.

"What do you want, Tyrion?"

It took him a moment to answer, but finally, he said, "I want you to know that, whatever happens, I will never leave you. I will stand by your side until my dying day, Sansa Stark. I swear it on my life, by the old gods and the new. I will never leave you. You have my word."

For a single instant, he thought he saw hope spark behind her eyes, but it quickly faded, replaced by suspicion and doubt. "You don't know what the future holds," she said. "My mother and father both thought they would be together until their dying day, and they were both wrong. My father lost his head in King's Landing, and my mother had her throat slit at the Twins. You say you will stay with me for the rest of your life, but how can I believe that? Everyone else has left me – my mother, my father, my brothers, and now Arya. Why should you be any different?"

"Because I . . ." Tyrion wanted to say the words, but he couldn't. He feared she wouldn't believe them. She was too angry, too emotional. She would think he was only saying them to make her feel better about Arya's departure. She would never believe the truth, no matter how sincere his words.

"Because you what, Tyrion? Because you have nowhere else to go? That isn't true. You are free to leave for Casterly Rock whenever you like. Perhaps you shouldn't wait until spring. Perhaps you should go now. You can ride with Arya along the kingsroad until you must turn west and she must continue south. I'm sure you'll enjoy the company."

Sansa swept past him then, not waiting for him to utter a single word of reply.

The instant Tyrion regained the ability to speak, he called out after her, but she kept walking. She disappeared into the night before he had any chance of reaching her.

Tyrion stood there in the darkness, the cold closing in around him, wondering what the hell had just happened. Only twelve hours earlier, Sansa had invited him into her bed, not because she'd had to, but because she'd wanted to. She had trusted him, she had loved him – not with her heart, of course, but with her body – and he had thought they had grown closer. But now, all his hopes were dashed. She had closed herself off from him again, fear and anger blinding her to the truth that was right in front of her eyes. He would never leave her. He would fight until his dying day to remain by her side. He loved her more than anyone or anything he had ever known, and he would never abandon her. Never. He just wished she could open her eyes and see that, once and for all.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-six

Sansa returned to her chamber and quickly stripped off her cloak and gown. She buried herself beneath the sleeping furs and stared blindly out into the darkness, her heart pounding in her chest, tears threatening behind her eyes. She felt like such a fool.

Just that morning, she had convinced herself that she was safe, that she could be content with her new life. But she'd been oh-so-very wrong. There was no such thing as safety, no such thing as security. Life at Winterfell was just as unstable and unpredictable as it had been in King's Landing, and it was time she faced the truth.

Arya was abandoning her, and Tyrion would too someday. She had allowed them both to lull her into a false sense of security, to convince her that she could be happy, but she knew that wasn't possible now. Life was changing, and it would continue to change, leaving her behind, just as it always did. Arya would return to King's Landing and forget all about her. Tyrion would go to Casterly Rock the moment he grew tired of her, and he might never return. And why should he? She hadn't been a particularly accommodating wife, despite the liberties she'd allowed him in her bedchamber. He would be much happier, she was sure, with some whore in his bed.

Sansa squeezed her eyes shut against the pain in her heart, and hot tears rolled down her cheeks. She knew she was letting her insecurities get the best of her, but she couldn't help it. She'd been so sure, so certain, that she'd known exactly what her life was going to be like now that things were more settled between her and Tyrion. She had never expected Arya to return to King's Landing. She'd thought that Arya felt the same way about Winterfell as she did, that it was home, that she would never want to leave it again. But apparently, she'd been wrong.

Sansa lay there for a long time, crying her heart out. Arya was right about one thing. Even though their relationship had improved since they'd both returned to Winterfell, they weren't terribly close. They were still getting to know each other again, and Sansa mourned the chance they were about to lose. She wanted Arya to stay, not just because she didn't want to be the only Stark in Winterfell, but because she loved her sister and she wanted the chance to get to know her better. Now, that could never be. She'd be lucky if she ever saw Arya again. Those she loved most had a painful habit of leaving Winterfell, never to return.

But it wasn't just Arya that Sansa feared losing. It was Tyrion as well. They had only been married for a short time, and already she couldn't imagine her life without him. He was her friend, her lover, her confidant. He knew how to make her smile when her whole world was falling apart. He knew how to comfort her, how to console her, how to bring her joy. Every morning, she awoke in hopeful anticipation of seeing his face, of talking to him, of being near him. He made her happy. He made her feel whole and alive again. She had come to rely on him as she relied on the air she breathed, and she knew if he ever left her, she'd simply fall apart.

Sansa opened her eyes and stared out into the darkened room, suddenly overcome by a startling truth. Since the day she had taken Tyrion as her husband again, she'd been fighting to keep him out of her heart. She'd thought she had steeled her heart against him, but somehow, he had managed to break through her defenses. Now, her heart ached for want of him, and Sansa could no longer deny the truth. She loved Tyrion Lannister. She loved him, and she was terrified of losing him.

Experience had taught Sansa that no one ever stayed by her side for long, and that, in the end, she would always end up alone. And yet, that morning, Tyrion had been so kind to her, so warm and gentle. He had held her in his arms and loved her as if his heart had been in every caress. He had cared for her, doted on her, confessed one of his darkest secrets. He had opened himself up to her. How could she ever believe that he would someday walk away? He had never betrayed her, never turned away from her. He had proven himself a kind and loyal husband, and Sansa knew she had judged him unfairly.

Sansa swiped the tears from her cheeks and threw off the covers. She got out of bed and hastily donned a robe. She still had no desire to see Arya, but she owed Tyrion an apology. She could not be angry with him for something he hadn't even done. She couldn't hold the sins of others against him. And she needed to tell him that.

Sansa slipped from the room, making her way to Tyrion's chamber as quickly as she could. The hour was growing late, and she prayed that she would find him there.

When she reached his room, she knocked softly on the door, hoping he would answer, hoping he wouldn't send her away. She knew he had every right to turn his back on her after the way she had treated him, but she hoped that he would show her more compassion than she had shown him.

"Enter!" he shouted.

Sansa was surprised by the boisterous tone of Tyrion's voice. Her heart skipped a beat as she wondered what she was going to find waiting for her when she entered his chamber.

Sansa opened the door and stepped inside. Tyrion was sitting at the table in the center of the room, wearing nothing more than a tunic and robe. He had a nearly empty flagon of wine in one hand and a goblet in the other.

"Sansa!" he said, raising up his glass to her. "Come to join me?"

Sansa quietly shut the door behind her. "You're drunk," she said, her tone leaving no doubt that she was none too pleased by his intoxication.

"Well," he said, contemplating the cup in his hand thoughtfully, "I don't know if I'm quite drunk yet. I've only had . . ." He stopped talking and counted the numbers in his head, silently mouthing the words as he did so. _One, two, three, four._ "Four," he finally said. "I've only had four glasses of wine. That hardly makes me drunk."

Sansa approached the table, her determination to apologize suddenly fleeing as her anger returned. She wrenched the flagon from his hand and slammed it down onto the table.

"Hey! I wasn't done with that!" Tyrion protested.

"I thought you were done with that a long time ago. I thought you were done wasting your nights drinking."

Tyrion shrugged. "I thought so too, but I guess we were both wrong. I guess we were both wrong about a lot of things." He laughed bitterly and raised his glass to take a drink. He leaned back his head, emptying the cup in one swig. When he lowered it, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned forward and reached for the flagon.

Sansa pushed it to the other side of the table. "You've had enough," she said.

"Oh, no, not quite. You'll know when I've had enough. I'll be passed out on the floor in a puddle of my own vomit."

"Why are you doing this? Why are you acting this way? After everything we've been through together, why are you doing this now?"

"You know why."

"No, I don't."

Tyrion shook his head. "I'm tired of denying who I am for you, Sansa. I can't do it anymore. Nothing I do is ever good enough. You'll never believe that you mean anything more to me than any of the other women who have come in and out of my life. You've already made up your mind. You tell me I'm wonderful. You invite me into your bed. And yet, and yet, you don't believe me when I tell you that I'll never leave you. You don't believe me when I tell you that . . . well, it doesn't matter. I'm tired of pretending. I'm tired of fighting who I am just to make you happy. Because nothing is ever going to make you happy, Sansa Stark. Nothing. You've already made up your mind about that. And there's nothing I can do to change it."

Sansa stared at Tyrion in stunned silence. Was that what he really thought of her? Did he really think that the only reason she was unhappy was because she had chosen to be unhappy? It was a cruel assessment, and Sansa felt as if she might burst into tears. But she held them back, determined not to let him see her cry.

"I have not made up my mind to be unhappy. The world made that decision for me long ago."

"Horseshit," Tyrion said. "That is complete and utter horseshit. You made up your mind, Sansa. You. We were so happy together, so very happy. Happier than I've ever been in my miserable little life. And you just decided, all of a sudden, that it doesn't matter. Arya is leaving, yes. But she has every right to leave. It's her choice. Not yours. She isn't doing it because she wants to hurt you. She's doing it because she thinks you don't need her anymore, because she thinks you're ready to stand on your own two feet. But apparently, she's wrong, isn't she? Because you're not ready. You'll never be ready. You're letting your pain and your anger and your hurt feelings dictate everything you do, and until you can let them go, you'll never be ready to stand on your own, Sansa Stark. Never."

Sansa's bottom lip trembled as she struggled to fight back the tears. Everything Tyrion had just said about her was true. She was afraid, afraid and angry. And she was letting her fear and anger control her. They had become constant companions in her life, the cruelest of counselors, and she listened to them far too often.

"So," Tyrion continued when she failed to reply, "since there is nothing I can do to make you happy, I'm going to make myself happy instead. I am going to drink until I pass out. And then, when I wake up, I'm going to do it all over again. Because I can. Because I have no reason not to. And there isn't a damn thing you can do about it."

But Sansa knew there was something she could do about it, and suddenly, she said the only thing she could say, "I'm sorry, Tyrion."

Tyrion stared at her, his gaze lucid for the first time since she had stepped into the room. She knew that had been the last thing he'd expected her to say.

"Sansa—"

"I'm sorry that I hurt you tonight. I'm sorry that I doubted your loyalty. Arya is the one who broke my heart, not you. I should never have been so hard on you."

Tyrion exhaled a heavy sigh. "I accept your apology, Sansa. And I'm sorry if I hurt you just now."

She shook her head. "No, don't apologize. Those were things I needed to hear."

"Even so, there was no need for me to be so cruel."

"I'll assume it was the wine talking. You're not a cruel man, Tyrion Lannister. It's not in your nature."

He laughed. "Ah, you obviously don't know me as well as you think you do. I can be cruel when it suits me."

"We can all be cruel when it suits us, but it is a rare thing, for both of us. It doesn't define us or make us who we are."

Sansa reached for the flagon. She picked it up and emptied its contents into Tyrion's glass. When she put it down, she said, "Drink as much as you want tonight, but please, let that be the end of it, for both our sakes."

"Of course," Tyrion said. Then, he put down the cup even though it was half full. "I think I've had enough for one night, actually. Suddenly, the idea of making myself sick with drink doesn't seem all that appealing."

Sansa nodded. She was glad that Tyrion was willing to see reason. She knew that, had she not shown reason herself, he never would have put down the glass. "Thank you, Tyrion. I like you a lot better when you're sober than when you're drunk."

"And why is that?"

"Because you have an amazing mind, and you only do yourself a disservice when you drown it in wine."

"Perhaps, but sometimes my mind needs a rest, and it likes to drown in a little bit of wine. But I shall not indulge to excess, henceforth. You have my word."

Sansa sighed. Suddenly, her limbs felt weak, and she wanted nothing more than to retire to her bedchamber and sleep until Arya disappeared from her life. She looked around the room awkwardly, at a loss for what to say.

"I'm going to turn in," Tyrion said. "And dwarf though I may be, my bed is as big as yours. Would you care to join me?"

Sansa's eyes snapped to his face in surprise. She hadn't expected him to ask her to lie with him again. He was still quite drunk, and she had no desire to be mauled by a man so deep in his cups, even if that man was Tyrion Lannister.

Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her.

"I'm not asking you to spread your legs for me," he said, the liquor making his tongue far cruder than usual. "I'm asking if you want to sleep by my side, that's all. Nothing more."

Sansa was tempted, but Tyrion reeked of wine, and already the scent was starting to make her head swim. She was still confused about what she felt and what she wanted. She needed space. She needed time. She needed to sleep in her own bed and figure things out for herself.

"I think I would like to retire to my own chamber if it's all the same to you."

Tyrion held out both his hands in surrender. "As you wish, my lady."

Sansa backed up toward the door. As she did so, she caught sight of the big bed up against the far wall, and she instantly wondered if she had made a mistake. But it was too late now. She didn't want Tyrion to think that she didn't know her own mind. She had made a decision, and she was determined to stick to it. "Good night, then," Sansa said, sorry to be going, despite her misgivings.

"Good night, Sansa. Sleep well."

She left the room then, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Sansa leaned back against the door and closed her eyes, her mind fraught with turmoil. Tyrion had said a great many things to her that she needed to think about. She needed some time alone. She needed some time away from him to sort through it all. She knew she loved Tyrion now, without any doubt, but she was still hurt and angry and insecure, and she wasn't at all prepared for the loss she was about to suffer. Time and distance were the only things that could heal her now. She would think about everything that Tyrion had said, and she would pray to the gods that she could overcome her bitterness before it was too late, before Arya was gone from her life forever.


	27. Chapter 27

Author's Note: As this story starts to wind down, I just wanted to let everyone know what to expect moving forward. This is the second to last chapter of this fic. I will be posting the final chapter on Monday and an epilogue on the following Friday. I thought it best to give everyone a heads up so that no one is surprised when the story ends next week.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-seven

Sansa was in a somber mood for the next fortnight, and Tyrion kept his distance. He didn't visit her chamber, nor press her when she failed to join him and Arya for meals. The only time he saw her was in the mornings when they conducted business together in the Great Hall. And even then, as soon as their work was done, she would quickly excuse herself and disappear for the rest of the day, without another word.

Tyrion could still remember, quite vividly, everything he had said to her the last time she had come to his chamber. He had been harsh, cruel even, but she'd needed to hear the truth from someone, and the wine had loosened his tongue just enough for it to have been him. He hadn't meant to hurt her, but he was certain that he had. He knew that Sansa was devastated by the thought of losing Arya, but that was no reason for her to throw away everything they had built together. He'd given her the time and distance he'd thought she needed to work through her insecurities, but it hadn't seemed to make any difference at all.

Tyrion missed his wife. He missed her smile, he missed her voice, he missed everything about her. It was hard for him to understand how she could shut him out so thoroughly after everything they had shared, but he knew she was hurt and angry, and that hurt and anger could make people do irrational things. He was living proof of that. So, he did his best not to hold her behavior against her, even though he was deeply wounded by her coldness.

Tyrion had tried to convince Arya to stay just a bit longer, to convince her that Sansa wasn't ready for her to go, but to no avail. He wondered why she had asked his opinion about leaving in the first place if she had already made up her mind, but he'd held his tongue on the matter to avoid incurring Arya's wrath. Arya would not be swayed any more than her sister would, and Tyrion was caught in the middle. He'd kept quiet for as long as he could, but as the morning of Arya's departure dawned, he knew he had to do something.

Arya broke her fast in her own chamber that morning, and Tyrion decided to have a private word with her while he still had the chance. He knocked on her door, and she bid him enter. When he stepped into the room, Arya was just finishing buckling her scabbard around her waist.

"Good morning, my lady sister."

"My lord brother."

"I know it may be asking a great deal," Tyrion began, "but perhaps you'd like to say goodbye to your sister before you leave."

"Why should I try when she is adamantly against it?"

"Because she's family. And we all do things we don't want to do in the name of family."

A private smile tugged at Arya's lips. "Has she sent you to fetch me?"

"Of course not. We both know she has too much pride for that."

"See, you do know her well."

Tyrion ignored the comment. He held out his hand toward the door. "Will you accompany me to her chamber?"

"Only if you promise that Sansa won't attempt to do me bodily harm."

"I can't promise you that, my lady. But I'm sure, if she does, you are more than capable of protecting yourself."

Arya sheathed Needle. "Very well. But if she throws something at me, I will blame you."

"And I will take the blame without complaint. Shall we?"

Arya followed Tyrion out into the hallway. He knew that Sansa didn't want to see her sister, but he also knew that if she let Arya leave without saying goodbye, she would always regret it. Tyrion wanted Sansa to be content in her new life at Winterfell. He didn't want her to spend the next year stewing over Arya's abandonment. No, Arya and Sansa needed to settle things before Arya was gone for good, before they lost their chance.

When they reached Sansa's chamber, Tyrion motioned for Arya to stand back as he knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" Sansa called.

"Your lord husband."

It took her a moment to reply, but finally, she said, "Come in."

Tyrion opened the door just wide enough to step inside. He left the door ajar so that Arya could follow once it was safe.

Sansa was standing by the window on the far side of the room. She looked displeased by the interruption.

"Good morning, Sansa," Tyrion said brightly, determined to ignore her sour demeanor.

"Is it?" she asked, her voice tense.

"Well, I think it is. The snow is beginning to melt, and spring is in the air. One certainly can't ask for a better morning than that."

"And my sister is abandoning me."

"Sansa." Tyrion crossed the room. When he reached his wife, he took one of her hands in his own and held it gently, grateful that she hadn't tried to pull away. "Your sister loves you," he said. "Very much. But she has her own path to follow. There is nothing for her here at Winterfell. Nothing. You have to let her go."

Now, Sansa did pull away. She took a step back, putting some distance between herself and Tyrion. "She could have waited."

"Until when?"

Sansa suddenly looked befuddled. "I don't know. Until I was ready."

"And when will you be ready? When a year has passed? Or two? When you've had a child? When?"

"I don't know. But not now."

Sansa moved to the table beside the window and slowly sank down onto one of the chairs. Tyrion followed, stopping directly in front of her, their eyes finally at an even level.

"Sansa, you are a very strong woman. You've lived so long on your own, and you've survived it admirably. You will survive this."

"I don't want to just survive anymore. I want to live, Tyrion. And I can't live without her."

"Yes, you can. You're not alone anymore, Sansa. You have me. And I will never leave you."

"I know you believe that now, but—"

"But nothing. I will stay by your side, always. You have nothing to fear on that count. But Arya, Arya needs to go. Her destiny lies elsewhere."

Sansa looked away, refusing to admit that he was right.

"Would you have her waste away up here in the North," Tyrion asked, "when she could have an exciting, vibrant life in King's Landing?"

"King's Landing is a wretched place. I do not wish her to go there."

"It is not the same place it was just one year ago. She will be safe. She will be with Jon."

"I don't want her to go," Sansa said, her voice breaking with unshed tears. "I'll miss her too much."

"I'll miss you too, Sansa."

Sansa raised her eyes to the door, and Tyrion followed her gaze. Arya was standing in the doorway looking at her sister, her own emotions clearly etched on her face.

"Sansa, I'm so sorry," Arya said as she rushed toward her.

Sansa stood, just in time to pull Arya into her arms. Both girls were crying now, and Tyrion didn't know whether or not he should leave them alone.

"I'm so sorry," Arya said again as she finally pulled herself away from Sansa. "I know this hurts, but you honestly don't need me anymore. Don't you see that?"

"I will always need you, Arya."

"And I will return someday. I promise. But I need to live my life, Sansa. Just as you need to live yours."

"But I don't want to live it without you."

Arya hugged her sister again, and Tyrion stepped aside, quietly inching his way toward the door as not to disturb them. But Sansa stopped him before he could make his escape.

"Tyrion, wait."

Tyrion turned back around to look at his wife. She seemed to have regained some of her composure, and he was glad.

She turned her attention back to Arya. "When do you leave?"

"As soon as possible. I want to cover as much ground as I can before the sun sets tonight."

"Will you wait for me? I need a word with my husband."

"Of course."

Arya hugged Sansa one last time and then left the room, nodding her thanks to Tyrion on her way out. She closed the door behind her, leaving him alone with his wife.

"You knew she was there, didn't you?" Sansa asked.

"I thought you might feel better if you said a proper goodbye to your sister, that's all. I didn't want you to miss your chance."

Sansa lowered herself into the chair behind her. "Come here," she said, gesturing with one hand for him to join her.

Tyrion was wary. He wasn't sure if Sansa was grateful or angry. He knew he had meddled in her private affairs, and he didn't know how she had taken it.

He crossed the floor, stopping in front of her again. He waited for her to speak, but she didn't. Instead, she leaned forward and kissed him softly.

Tyrion's whole body instantly felt as if it was alight with wildfire. He had never expected Sansa to kiss him. It had been an entire fortnight since he had been in her bed, and there had been no contact between them since that time. He had begun to think that she had already grown tired of him, but obviously, he'd been wrong.

When Sansa finally pulled away, she said, "Thank you, Tyrion."

It took him a moment to find the words to ask, "For what?"

"For intervening on my behalf with Arya. I would not have gone to her on my own. I would have let my foolish pride get in the way. I would have let her leave for King's Landing without ever saying goodbye. So, thank you."

"I only did what I thought was best for you. Nothing more. In fact, I thought you might be furious with me and never speak to me again. But I knew I had to try."

"Thank you for trying."

"You're quite welcome. I'm just glad it worked."

Sansa reached for his hand, holding it gently in her own, and Tyrion's heart skipped a beat. The gesture, small though it was, gave him hope.

"I'm sorry for the way I've behaved," Sansa said. "It seems that every time I face the slightest bit of adversity, I shut you out. I am sorry, Tyrion. It isn't something that I mean to do. I'm just trying to protect myself."

He slipped his free hand over hers in an attempt to comfort her. "There's nothing to be sorry for, Sansa. You have suffered a great deal. I do not expect you to be trusting and open all the time. I know there will be times when you will need to be alone, when you will need to think things through, or deal with things that are painful. I will always wait patiently until you are ready for me to return to your side. As I have said before, I will never ask you for more than you are willing to give."

"I'm afraid I've held a great deal back from you. I'm sorry."

Tyrion shook his head. "No matter. You'll have plenty of time to make up for it."

"You were right, you know."

"About what?"

"I have chosen to be unhappy. I have let my darker emotions get the better of me at every turn, and instead of facing my fears like a grown woman, I have retreated into myself like a child. I will not do so again. You have my word."

"That is all I can ask." Tyrion smiled at her, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "Now, I think it would be best if we saw your sister off in a proper fashion. Will you join me?"

Sansa released his hand, swiping at the tears staining her cheeks. "I think I can do that," she replied, gracing him with the hint of a smile.

"Good." He took a step back, giving her room to rise, and held out his hand to her again. "Shall we, my lady?"

Sansa stood. She took Tyrion's hand without protest, and together they left the room in search of Arya. They would say their goodbyes together and wish Arya a safe journey. Tyrion knew it might be years before they saw her again, and although he was sad to see her go, he was grateful that she would be leaving Winterfell with her sister's blessing. It was more than he could have hoped for just a few short hours earlier, and he was glad that he had intervened on their behalf. Both Sansa and Arya deserved to be happy, and now, Tyrion was certain that they were both on the right path.


	28. Chapter 28

Author's Note: This is the final regular chapter of this fic. I will be posting the epilogue on Friday.

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Chapter Twenty-eight

Watching Arya leave had been one of the hardest things Sansa had ever done. Of course, she knew it was for the best. Arya deserved her own life. But it hurt just the same.

After their tearful goodbyes in the yard, Sansa had retired to her chamber for the rest of the day to sort through her emotions. She had been in no condition to make a public appearance, and so, she had left the work of running the keep fall to Tyrion again. It had been a fortnight since she'd last abandoned her duties to him, and although she hated doing so, she knew she was incapable of thinking clearly under the circumstances. She just wanted to sit in her room and cry until the ache went away.

Sansa didn't see another soul until it was almost time for the evening meal. Her maidservant entered her chamber with a message from Tyrion. "His lordship would like you to join him for dinner, my lady."

Sansa lay on her bed, wearing nothing more than her nightdress. She had no intention of going anywhere for the foreseeable future. "Please tell him that I will be dining alone this evening."

"Begging your pardon, my lady, but he insisted. He said that if you refused, he would come fetch you himself."

"I'd very much like to see him try," Sansa countered. She couldn't imagine how Tyrion intended to drag her from the room if she didn't want to go. Would he commandeer Podrick's help to carry her to the Great Hall?

"All the same, he did insist, my lady."

Sansa sighed in defeat. It was rare that Tyrion demanded anything of her. And when he did, it was always with good reason. Just that morning, she had given him her word that she would no longer hide from the world like a petulant child. And so, despite her own wishes, she got off the bed and allowed her maidservant to dress her for the evening.

Sansa would have chosen the simplest of gowns for a meal alone with her husband, but the girl chose one of her most elaborate, and Sansa couldn't help but be intrigued. "Did Lord Tyrion instruct you to pick this dress?" she asked as the girl finished fastening the ties.

"He wanted you at your most radiant, my lady. And the blue of this brocade brings out the color in your eyes."

Sansa turned toward the mirror on her dressing table. She did look particularly lovely. She wondered just what Tyrion had in store for her.

Sansa lowered herself to the bench in front of the dressing table and allowed her handmaiden to arrange her hair without further protest. By the time the girl was finished, Sansa looked like a completely different person. She looked regal and dignified, nothing like the sad little girl who had spent all afternoon crying into her pillow.

"His lordship would like you to join him in his chamber," the maidservant said as she stepped back, her work now complete.

A momentary shock passed through Sansa's heart. "In his chamber?"

"Yes, my lady. Again, he insisted."

Sansa swallowed the lump in her throat. It had been ages since she'd been alone with Tyrion. And even though it was not yet time for them to lie together again, she suddenly had no doubt of his intentions.

"Thank you," Sansa said. "That is all for this evening."

"Yes, my lady." The girl offered her a small curtsy and left the room.

Sansa sat staring at herself in the mirror, her mind whirling with possibilities. Her moonblood was already several days late, though she was reluctant to assume that she was with child since its visits had always been irregular, even before she'd been wed. Lying with Tyrion now would serve no purpose other than to give them both pleasure, and Sansa was surprised by how thrilling she found the idea. She wanted him again, had wanted him the entire time she'd been sulking about Arya. Her pride had robbed her of her time with Tyrion, and she was determined not to let it happen again. She would go to him and do whatever he asked of her. She wanted to be with him more than mere words could express. She loved him, and maybe tonight, she'd finally get to show him how much.

Sansa took one last look at herself in the mirror and then left the room. It didn't take her long to find herself at Tyrion's door. Her nerves were buzzing beneath her skin, but she wasn't afraid. All she felt was the hum of anticipation coursing through her body. She was glad that Tyrion had sent for her. She hadn't realized just how very much she'd missed him.

Sansa pulled back her shoulders and knocked soundly on the door. A moment later, it opened, and she found Tyrion standing before her, dressed in his finest red leather tunic.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. She didn't think he had ever looked more handsome.

"Good evening, my lady," Tyrion said as his gaze scanned the length of her. When his eyes finally met hers again, he said, "You look absolutely stunning."

"Thank you, my lord. You look quite handsome as well."

"Well, there's no accounting for taste, is there?"

Sansa gave him a censorious look. "If you intend to insult yourself all night, I will turn around right now and go back to my chamber."

"No, no," Tyrion said, taking her hand and leading her into the room. "Please, don't. I'm sorry. I do look quite handsome tonight. Thank you for noticing."

Sansa smiled. She couldn't help herself.

Tyrion let go of her hand just long enough to close the door behind him. Then, he took it again and led her to the table in the center of the room. It had been laid out with a feast fit for a king. The best silver and linens had been used, and everything sparkled with candlelight. It was impossibly romantic, and Sansa was momentarily stunned by the gesture. Her feet faltered, and she just stared at the table.

"Is something wrong?" Tyrion asked. "Is it not to your liking? I can have the servants clear it away if you wish."

"No, it's beautiful," she said, barely conscious of the words escaping her lips. She reached out and idly toyed with the handle of a silver spoon. Her mother had only ever brought their finest silver out for special occasions. Sansa was happy to see it again. It had been a long time. "I . . . I wasn't expecting anything so elaborate. What's the occasion?" she asked, finally looking at Tyrion.

"Oh, nothing special," he said, moving forward to pull out a chair for her. He helped her get settled and then moved around the table and climbed into his own chair. "I just didn't want you sulking in your room all night. I was afraid if you did, I wouldn't see you again for another fortnight. I know neither one of us wants that to happen."

Tyrion busied himself pouring two glasses of wine. Sansa watched him in silence. Tyrion's bed was only a few feet to her left. She had never been in his bed before, and she couldn't help but wonder just how soon she would find herself there. She truly hoped that it wouldn't be long.

Tyrion handed her a glass, then raised his own in toast. "To the Lord and Lady of Winterfell and Casterly Rock. May we have many happy years together, from this day forward."

They both drank, their eyes never leaving each other's. When Sansa lowered her glass, she said, "That's a very different toast than the one you gave on our wedding night. I believe you toasted to a tolerable marriage."

"Well, if I did, I was right, wasn't I? Our marriage is tolerable."

Sansa laughed. "I thought I had made the biggest mistake of my life that night. Particularly after you left me."

"You know why I had to do that. But I'm sorry if it hurt you."

"I understand now, and I am grateful for it."

"Well, it's nice when my wisdom is appreciated." Tyrion took another sip of wine, then returned his glass to the table. "Now, we should probably eat something. I'll bet you haven't eaten in days, have you?"

Sansa wanted to deny it, but she couldn't. It had been ages since she'd had a decent meal. She'd lost her appetite the moment she'd learned that Arya was leaving for King's Landing. "I think I will try to eat something," Sansa replied, refusing to confirm Tyrion's suspicions.

Sansa filled her plate, and Tyrion did the same. Together, they ate their meal, talking and laughing and enjoying each other's company. It had been a long time since Sansa had felt so at ease. She was sorry that Tyrion hadn't forced her out of her self-imposed exile sooner.

When the meal was done, Tyrion pushed his chair away from the table and stood. "Would you care to sit for a while?" he asked, offering her his hand and motioning toward the high backed bench beside the hearth.

"Of course," Sansa replied. She allowed Tyrion to help her from her seat and lead her across the room.

They settled down together, sitting closer than they ever had before. They sat so close, in fact, that Sansa could feel the heat rising off Tyrion's body, and it made her flush warmly all over.

"You do look ravishing tonight," Tyrion said. "More beautiful than I've ever seen you before."

"I could say the same about you."

"Really?" Sansa could tell that he wanted to believe her, but that he found the thought almost impossible to believe.

"Yes, Tyrion. In fact, I would like it very much if you would take me to your bed tonight." Sansa was surprised by her own words. She had never expected to say anything so bold, and she was afraid Tyrion would be appalled by her brazenness.

Instead, he just looked up at her in wonder. "But it isn't time yet. There's no chance of us conceiving a child tonight."

"I know."

Tyrion caught his breath, and Sansa waited for him to reply. After a long moment, he said, "If that is what you want, that is what you will have. I will not deny you anything, Sansa. I can't deny you anything."

Tyrion took her hand and climbed down from the bench. He tried to take her toward the bed, but she wouldn't move. She had to know something first. "Tell me something, Tyrion. Although this is what I want, is it what you want? Because if it isn't, you don't have to do it just to please me."

Tyrion shook his head. "Sansa Stark, you do misunderstand me, don't you? I always want you. Every hour of every day, even when I sleep. I dream about you. I wake up in the night aching for you. You have no idea how much I want you."

Without thinking, Sansa slipped off the bench, resting on her knees in front of him. They were now face to face on an even level, and she could look directly into his eyes. The desire she saw there was unmistakable. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.

Sansa caressed his right cheek, gently running her fingers along his scar. She was so desperately in love with him, and her heart felt like it might burst for want of telling him. She had kept the truth from him for far too long. It was time that he knew just how much he meant to her. She couldn't wait a moment longer.

"Tyrion," she said, "there's something I need to tell you."

"Yes, Sansa?"

"You may not believe this. And I may regret saying it. It may someday leave me with a broken heart. But I'm tired of being a coward. I've been one for far too long."

"Not you, Sansa. Never you."

"I love you, Tyrion Lannister. I love you."

The look of shock in Tyrion's eyes was heartbreaking. Sansa didn't know if he believed her or not. The truth was, she didn't know how Tyrion felt about her. Not really. She knew that he desired her, but that didn't mean that he loved her. But even if he didn't return her feelings, it didn't matter. She loved him, and he needed to know it.

It took Tyrion a moment to recover, but when he finally did, he said, "Sansa, I . . . I . . ."

"It's all right," she said softly. "You don't have to say it in return. I didn't expect you to. I just wanted you to know how I feel. I wanted to be honest with you before going to your bed."

"Oh, my dear, sweet, Sansa." Tyrion reached for her other hand, clutching both of them against his chest. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?"

Sansa was startled by the question. "You needn't say so if it isn't true."

"But it is true," he said, squeezing her hands for emphasis. "I have loved you for so long, I can scarcely remember a time when I didn't. Sometimes, I think I loved you all the way back in King's Landing. I think that's why I was so afraid to marry you. I knew you already had my heart, and I couldn't bear for it to be trampled again."

"I would never hurt you, Tyrion."

"I know that now. But now, things are different, aren't they? We're not the same people we were in King's Landing. We're different. Stronger, but more damaged. Kinder, but less trusting."

"But we trust each other, don't we?"

"Yes, yes, we do."

Sansa leaned forward and kissed him softly. Her whole body was warm with fever, and she just wanted Tyrion to take her to bed. When she broke away, she said, "Make love to me, Tyrion. Please."

Tyrion's eyes searched hers as if looking for any proof of guile. But she knew he would find none. She loved him, and she wanted him, as she had never loved or wanted anyone before.

"I love you, Sansa Stark. You are the most beautiful, wonderful woman I have ever known. And I do not deserve you."

"Yes, you do, Tyrion. Because you are wonderful too. You are handsome and kind, brave and gentle and strong. You are everything I've ever wanted in a husband, and I couldn't be happier to call you my own. I love you, Tyrion. Please, take me to bed."

Tyrion made no further argument. He helped Sansa to her feet and then led her across the room.

Tyrion climbed the small set of steps beside the bed, stopping at the very top. Then, he turned toward Sansa and began to help her undress. He took his time with her, kissing each new inch of exposed flesh until she stood naked before him. Then, Sansa took her turn. She had never undressed a man before, but she was determined to do so without any shame or embarrassment. She divested Tyrion of his tunic, and then his breeches, finally leaving him in nothing more than his linen shift.

Sansa reached for the hem, but Tyrion's hands on her wrists stopped her. "You needn't do that," he said. "I am certainly nothing to look at."

"You are everything to me, and I'd like to see you as you are, if it's all the same to you."

Tyrion nodded, releasing Sansa's hands. She held her breath as she lifted his shirt up over his head and discarded it on the floor. When she looked at Tyrion again, he was completely naked.

Sansa's cheeks flamed red despite her efforts to be brave. Tyrion was shorter than most men, yes, but she found him no less desirable. Although he wasn't muscular, there wasn't an ounce of fat on him either. His chest was covered in a light sprinkling of delicate golden curls, and Sansa's fingers itched to run through them. When she lowered her gaze and caught sight of his manhood, her heart nearly stopped. They had only just undressed each other, and already he was primed for her, his shaft thick and hard with need. Without allowing herself a moment to overthink, Sansa reached out and gently ran her fingers up the length of him.

Tyrion inhaled a sharp breath, and Sansa fought the urge to pull away. She knew she hadn't hurt him, despite his reaction. She had caressed him intimately once before, and although, that time, he had asked her to stop, she knew he had enjoyed the experience very much.

Sansa held her breath and traced the length of him again, from the base to the very tip. Tyrion moaned softly, and a secret smile tugged at Sansa's lips.

Over and over again, she ran her fingers along his silken flesh, eliciting the most delicious sounds from his throat. Soon, she became bolder, wrapping her hand firmly around him and moving up and down his length.

"Oh, Sansa," he whispered, and it was nearly her undoing.

She wanted to be on the bed with him, she wanted him inside her right then and there. But he was enjoying her touch too much for her to pull away.

Sansa leaned forward and started placing small kisses against his chest while she continued to pleasure him. It wasn't until Tyrion's hand wrapped around her wrist that she was finally forced to stop.

"That's enough, Sansa," he said hoarsely, the words barely discernable.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No, my dearest, no. But if you continue doing that, this little endeavor will have ended long before I get you in this bed. Do you understand?"

She did understand. She was doing too good a job of pleasing him. He wanted her to stop so that when he did find his release, he would be inside her.

Reluctantly, Sansa moved her hand away. She raised it to Tyrion's cheek and drew him closer, kissing him soundly. Tyrion pulled her back onto the bed so that she was lying on top of him. As much as Sansa had enjoyed being in that position once before, tonight she wanted him to be the one to take control. She wanted him to show her just how much he loved her.

Sansa kissed Tyrion a few more times before trailing a row of kisses down his throat and across his chest. She wasn't brave enough to go any lower. Not yet. Next time, perhaps. But not tonight.

When she'd had her fill of him, she turned over onto her back and encouraged him to lie on top of her.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Tyrion asked as he hovered above her. "All the power is on top."

"I don't want power. I just want you."

Tyrion smiled. It was the sweetest smile Sansa had ever seen. She knew, in that moment, that he truly believed that she loved him and wanted him, and that was more than she could have ever hoped for.

Tyrion leaned down and kissed her deeply, his tongue delving into her mouth. Sansa sighed contently, entwining her fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. She loved him so much, she never wanted to let him go.

It wasn't long before Tyrion was inside her. Even though she knew he had wanted to take his time with her, his need was just too strong. He drove into her with startling urgency, and Sansa met him thrust for thrust. She had never wanted him more.

They made love as if they had been separated, not for a fortnight, but for years, and far too soon, Sansa was tumbling over the precipice, calling out his name again and again. Tyrion soon followed her, words of love and devotion pouring from his lips as he found his own release.

When Sansa finally opened her eyes again, Tyrion was lying on the bed beside her. She was only half on the bed herself, as they'd made love exactly as they'd landed on the mattress. Sansa turned to look at Tyrion, barely able to catch her breath.

He was staring at her with wonder in his eyes, and Sansa felt like such a fool for not having realized how he felt about her sooner. No one had ever looked at her with such love and admiration. But Tyrion always had.

He leaned forward and kissed her bare shoulder. "Are you satisfied, dear wife?"

A small smile tugged at her lips as she shook her head. "No, dear husband."

Tyrion propped himself up on one elbow, a look of mock-indignation furrowing his brow. "No?"

"No. You have taken me to bed, but my feet are still on the floor, so you've only done half of what I've asked of you."

Tyrion looked down the length of her to see her knees bent over the side of the mattress. When his eyes met hers again, he said, "Will you please get on the bed? I'm afraid I don't have the strength to pick you up and carry you."

"Well, since you asked so nicely." Sansa pulled her legs up onto the mattress and turned her whole body so that she could now lie with her head on the pillow.

Tyrion lay down beside her.

"You know what this means, don't you?" she asked.

Tyrion picked up a stray lock of hair that had curled around her breast. He watched idly as it slipped through his fingers over and over again. "What does it mean?"

"That if you wish to satisfy me, you will have to bed me again properly."

Tyrion looked up at Sansa, but he did not release the lock of hair. "Oh, does it now?"

"Yes, it does. And you do want to satisfy me, don't you? You do want to make me happy?"

"I want nothing more in this world."

"Then you shall have to make love to me again, my Lord Lannister."

Tyrion smirked. "Oh, I will, my Lady Stark. Many, many, many times." He let the lock of hair slip through his fingers once more before leaning down and kissing her.

Sansa sighed contentedly as she curled her fingers into his hair. She loved Tyrion Lannister with all her heart and all her soul, and she knew now that he would never leave her of his own accord. Tyrion loved her as much as she loved him, and she would never again doubt his devotion. Their life together was just beginning, and she knew, without a doubt, that it was going to be a happy one.


	29. Epilogue

Author's Note: As this story finally comes to a close, I just want to thank everyone for sticking with it for so long. Thank you also to everyone who took the time to leave a review. Your encouragement and insights have meant the world to me! I am hoping to post at least one more completed GoT fic before the series returns. I'm not certain what it will be yet, but I promise it will include more Sansa/Tyrion romance. :)

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Epilogue

Soon after winter had passed and spring was in full bloom, Sansa and Tyrion welcomed their firstborn son into the world. It had been a difficult birth, but Sansa had survived it, and little Eddard Lannister had come into the world in perfect health. Although not a dwarf like his father, he did have Tyrion's golden hair. From Sansa, he had inherited his sparkling blue eyes, and she had never seen anything more beautiful in all her life.

Hours after Eddard's birth, Sansa slept soundly in the bed she now shared with Tyrion, overcome by exhaustion. But just before the break of dawn, she awoke, turning to find herself alone.

Sansa sat up, momentarily alarmed to find herself without Tyrion by her side. She scanned the darkened room, searching for any sign of her husband. She found him sitting in the corner by Eddard's cradle, rocking it gently and singing a soft lullaby whose words she didn't know.

Sansa exhaled a relieved sigh and leaned back against the headboard, her eyes transfixed on her husband. They had been married for nearly a year now, and she thanked the gods every day for him. He had saved her from herself, from the pain and misery of her past. Had Tyrion not come back into her life, she might have let herself drown in her own bitterness. He had shown her that life could be happy again and that love still existed, even in the cruelest of worlds. Even after all this time, she still loved him desperately. As she watched Tyrion lull their son to sleep, she realized that she loved him even more today than she had the day before.

When Tyrion had finished singing, Sansa finally felt that it was safe to speak. "That's a beautiful song."

Tyrion looked up at her as if surprised to see her awake. "It's an old song from my childhood in Lannisport. You've never heard it?"

"No, it's not something we sing here in the North."

Tyrion moved away from the cradle. "How are you feeling, Sansa, my love?"

Sansa loved when he called her that. He only did it in private, and the gesture always seemed so very intimate. "Better than a few hours ago. How is he?"

"Resting comfortably." Tyrion climbed onto the bed, sitting on the edge so that he could face her.

"He's so perfect, isn't he?"

"And you were worried that he'd turn out to be a dwarf."

Sansa slapped Tyrion playfully on the arm. "You were the one who was worried, not me. I would have loved him either way."

"Well, you never know. The next one might be a misshapen little monkey, just like his father. You might still have your chance."

Sansa ignored Tyrion's self-deprecation. Even after a year of marriage, she had been unable to break him of the habit, and so, she had stopped trying. "Do you think there will be another one?"

Tyrion smirked. "If I have anything to do with it, there will be many, many more."

Sansa couldn't help but smile. "You know, my mother and father had five children. We should have at least that many."

"But of course. We'll fill the yard with little wolves and lions, and our children shall help repopulate the North."

Sansa giggled. She couldn't stop herself. "I like that idea very much."

"So do I." Tyrion took her hand in both of his and brought it to his lips, kissing it gently. Then, he lowered his hands to his lap, still holding hers, his thumb idly tracing circles across her bare skin. "It is late, and you have been through a great deal today. You should get your rest."

"I've had my rest."

"Then what do you want to do?"

"I want to hold our child."

"He has just fallen back to sleep. I don't think we should wake him. Would you prefer if I held you instead?"

Sansa knew she could not have her way just then. It would not be fair to either Eddard or Tyrion if she woke the sleeping babe just to appease her own desires. So, she graciously accepted Tyrion's offer.

He climbed beneath the covers, and Sansa lay down again. As soon as Tyrion was settled, she cuddled up next to him, resting her head against his chest.

"How is this?" he asked. "Will it suffice for now?"

"Yes. Thank you," she said, snuggling up even closer.

Tyrion relaxed against the mattress and began to stroke her hair. "I've sent ravens to King's Landing and to Casterly Rock. There is a new heir to Winterfell, and the world needs to know it."

"You want to take him there, don't you?"

"To Casterly Rock?"

"Yes."

"Of course, but it need not be anytime soon. I know how you feel about leaving Winterfell—"

"I'd like to bring him to Lannisport, to show him to your people."

Tyrion's hand stilled against the back of her head. "Do you mean that?"

"I do. I will never allow him to go to King's Landing, of course. Not even during peacetime. Not even with Jon and Arya happily ensconced in the Red Keep. But I will go with you both to Casterly Rock and introduce your people to their new heir."

"Oh, Sansa."

Tyrion pulled away, and Sansa moved back to look up at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he said, his eyes filled with the same love and admiration she'd seen earlier that day right after she'd given birth to their son. "I just never thought to hear you say those words."

"I know how much it means to you, and I have no desire to be selfish. You've spent far too long taking care of me, giving me what I need. Now, I want to give you what you need. As soon as Eddard and I are strong enough to travel, we will go home with you to Casterly Rock, for a spell."

Tyrion searched her eyes as if overcome by just how very much he loved her. Without a word, he closed the distance between them and kissed her softly, deeply. When he finally broke away, he said, "Thank you, Sansa. Today, you have made me happier than I have ever imagined possible, and I will always love you for it."

"You have done the same for me, Tyrion Lannister. You gave me a child, and you gave me my life back. Thank you." She leaned forward and kissed him just as he had kissed her.

It was torture for Sansa to have to pull away, but she knew she was in no condition to take things any further. And so, she ended the kiss with a regretful sigh.

"Don't worry," Tyrion said. "We won't have to abstain forever."

"I know that," she replied, her fingers idly playing with the ties on his shift. "It just seems like forever."

Tyrion laughed. "It's only been a moonturn so far. Up until a year ago, you had waited your entire life to enjoy a man's company in your bed. Surely, you can wait a little longer."

"I don't know. I think you've corrupted me, Lord Tyrion."

Tyrion grinned wickedly. "Oh, have I, Lady Sansa?"

"I believe you have." And then, despite the trouble she knew it would cause, she kissed him again, this time sweeping her tongue against his, causing him to groan deep in his throat.

It was Tyrion who pulled away this time. "That's not fair."

Sansa laughed. "I told you that you had corrupted me."

Tyrion pulled her to him, coaxing her to lie by his side again, her head against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. "That's enough of that for one night," he scolded. "You need some sleep."

Sansa slid her hand up Tyrion's thigh and around his hardening manhood.

"Oh, fuck," he swore.

Sansa giggled again, but she relented. She trailed her hand up his stomach and rested it flat against his chest. "Very well, if you'd rather I didn't—"

"There's a sleeping babe on the other side of the room. If you start doing that now, he won't be asleep for long. There's no way in the Seven Hells I'd be able to keep quiet."

"All right, then," Sansa said, incapable of keeping the disappointment from her voice. She placed a chaste kiss against Tyrion's chest and then settled down to sleep. "Good night, Tyrion."

"Good night, Sansa."

He tightened his grip on her, and Sansa instantly felt warm and safe. She knew that Tyrion would always love her, just as she would always love him. She would go with him to Casterly Rock. She would be the wife he had always dreamed of. She would do all she could to make him happy because he deserved it more than anyone she had ever known.

Sansa was grateful to the gods for having brought Tyrion Lannister into her life. Although, when she had first asked him to be her husband, it had only been to fulfill a duty, now he meant everything to her. She could not have chosen a better husband. Not if she had searched all the known world.

Sansa slowly drifted off to sleep, dreaming about a future filled with happy children and her loving husband by her side. She had nothing but pleasant dreams.


End file.
